Dudley Dursley and the Sorcerer's Stone
by Hanekaeru
Summary: Dudley Dursley, 37, has only just put his daughter on the Hogwarts Express and said goodbye when Platform 9 3/4 is attacked. In the ensuing explosion, he blacks out - and wakes up as an eleven year old back in Privet Drive. Confused and wary, he finds himself blundering through his life all over again, and unfortunately, being eleven isn't the only surprise in store.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, the fumes of car exhausts doing nothing to diminish its sweetness. The little family crossing to the station, however, barely noticed. Two large cages rattled on top of the packed trolleys the parents were pushing, the owls inside hooting indignantly. The little redheaded girl trailed tearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father's sleeve.

"It won't be long now, and you'll be going too." Harry's voice was laden with fond exasperation, though this was obviously not a new conversation.

"Two years," came Lily's plaintive reply. "I want to go now!"

Before anything more could be said, Dudley and his daughter fell into step beside Harry's, and his cousin flashed him a tired grin. "Morning, Harry," Dudley said, returning the gesture. He, too, was pushing a cart, though the cage on top of this contained a very irate cat.

"Morning, Dudley."

Ariana, Dudley's oldest, had darted ahead to talk to James - who was in her year - and Albus, and the latter's voice carried back to them over the noise.

"I won't! I won't be in Slytherin!"

"Lay off, James," Ariana said, tying her hair back with her new Hufflepuff ribbon. "Obviously he'll be in Hufflepuff with me. Are you trying out for quidditch this year?"

Ignoring Albus's protests that he didn't want to be in Hufflepuff, either, the two older children immediately began to argue over who was the better player and which team was likely to win. Harry and Dudley shared a wry look.

"How's Padma?" Harry asked finally, as they approached the barrier.

"She's doing better," Dudley said. "Harriet and Parvati were still feverish when we left, though."

Harry grimaced in sympathy - the twins were Lily's age, and more sickly than their athletic older sister. Dudley dreaded the day they went to Hogwarts, because they were also prone to mischief, and he didn't particularly want them in the hospital wing more than they would be already.

They passed through the barrier and joined the others, Ariana and James sticking around only long enough to grab their trolleys before disappearing into the mist. "Where are they?" Albus asked, staring intently through the steam from the Hogwarts Express as they made their way down the platform.

"We'll find them," Ginny replied confidently.

Eventually, they reached the last carriage and found their quarry. Ron and Hermione hugged Harry and Ginny, and shook Dudley's hand. Their smiles were genuine, to Dudley's relief - they'd been understandably wary last year, when Ariana had started at Hogwarts, but Padma had been there to stare them down.

"-didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you?" Ron was saying, grinning cheekily at his wife. "She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "No, I didn't. I had complete faith in you."

Ron whispered something to Harry as they lifted Albus's trunk and owl onto the train, and judging by their grins, Dudley suspected that Ron had, in fact, Confunded the examiner. He shook his head and checked his watch, wondering if he should call Padma after he saw the train off.

"Look who it is."

That tone of voice meant only one person, and Dudley lifted his head to look in the same direction everyone else was staring. The steam had thinned, and there stood the Malfoys. Dudley smiled warmly in greeting, and Draco, who had nodded curtly to everyone else, gave him the faintest of smiles before turning away. His son stared curiously at Dudley before turning to his mother to ask a question.

"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank Merlin you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," said Hermione, exasperated. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

"You're right, sorry," said Ron, looking as if he weren't sorry at all. He added, unable to help himself, "Don't get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

Rose, however, was not listening, because at that moment, Ariana and James had turned up, the latter fit to burst with excitement. They'd divested themselves of pets, trunks, and trolleys, and Ariana had hastily thrown her robes on over her jeans and t-shirt.

"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. "Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire!"

He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction. "Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing-"

"You interrupted them?" said Ginny. "You are so like Ron-"

"He's an idiot," said Ariana primly.

"-and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away! He's snogging her!" James added as though worried he had not made himself clear. Ariana rolled her eyes.

"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married," whispered Lily sarcastically.

"Teddy would really be part of the family then!"

As the family descended into fond bickering, Ariana approached her father and tugged on his sleeve, staring up at him with serious brown eyes. "Make sure the twins stay out of my room," she said. "Okay?"

Dudley patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, we'll keep it locked up. Let us know when your first quidditch match is, okay?"

She let go of his sleeve and grabbed him for a hug, squeezing as tight as her skinny little arms allowed. "You better not forget to write me," she mumbled as he hugged her back, and he smiled broadly as, not a moment later, she pulled away to punch James in the arm for calling her a baby.

Finally, the children boarded the train, Ariana and James staying only to wave before rushing off to find their friends. Harry quietly spoke to Albus about his fear of being sorted into Slytherin, then let him go with a final hug, and the adults all stood together and watched the train ease out of the station.

When it was out of sight, Dudley turned back to Harry and the others, and his cousin smiled. "Fancy coming to lunch, Dud?" he asked.

Dudley shook his head. "I'd love to, but I need to get home," he said with a rueful grin. "The twins are probably driving Padma up the wall."

The others, knowing full well what the twins were like, groaned. "Well, some other time, then," Harry said, the group beginning to move towards the barrier. "Give them our love, will you?"

He was just opening his mouth to reply when there was a terrible rumbling noise, and the platform gave a violent heave. Dudley hit the ground with a pained grunt, and something exploded near his elbow, sending pavement flying. Through the screaming, he could hear Harry issuing orders, and struggled to get up. He lifted his head just in time to see a pillar collapse and fall towards him, and then something struck him from behind and his world went black.

* * *

Notes

* * *

Hi folks! I've been uploading this over at Ao3 and I figured I should post it here too. I plan to do all seven books, so stay tuned.


	2. Awakening

**CHAPTER ONE**

Dudley sat upright, panting heavily, screams still echoing in his ears and light flashing in front of his eyes. Slowly, he realized that he was in a dark room, not lying on the ground at King's Cross, and sighed shakily, rubbing his aching head. Just a dream, he thought to himself, and reached out to his sleeping wife to reassure himself.

His hand hit a wall.

Panic choked him, and in his struggle to get out of bed, he fell clumsily to the floor. The impact startled him enough that he lay there a moment in shock, and during that moment, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He looked around, frowning at the toys and clothing strewn about the room, then slowly picked himself up. Ron and Hermione must have taken him in, because this wasn't Harry's house - though why they wouldn't just take him to a hospital, he wasn't sure. At any rate, Ariana was safe at Hogwarts, and he'd get an owl from her in the morning. Padma and the twins were at home, safely guarded by Aurors if it was serious, or else waiting for his return. Something still seemed off, though, and he felt heavy and cramped, so he made his way quietly to the door, deciding he needed to investigate.

He opened it to a very familiar hallway, and gripped the door so tightly in horror that he thought it might break. Even dimly lit by a nightlight, there was no mistaking this hallway for any other. He moved quietly down it and opened the bathroom to look for something he could use to defend himself. Obviously whoever had taken the time to construct something like this was sick and twisted. Considering the house at Privet Drive had burned down years ago, the only way to remake it so perfectly would be to use someone's memories.

Dudley's hand closed on a curling iron and he lifted it, holding in a hysterical laugh. _Look, Ari,_ he thought to his absent daughter,_ now I've got a wand_. As he wrapped the cord round his wrist to keep it out of the way, he happened to glance up into the mirror, and froze. The face that stared back at him was not the face of a thirty-something father - it was the face of a frightened ten year old.

He stared blankly for a long time, until the words _time_ and _spell_ wormed their way into his head. What were those things called? Time changers? But he didn't think it was possible to put someone back in their own body. It was probably an illusion, then, dredged up by his captors. He slowly unwrapped the curling iron cord and place the whole thing back in the drawer he'd pulled it from. Even as he told himself it was an illusion, he couldn't shake the idea of time travel, and mulled over his situation as he trudged back to the bedroom he hadn't seen in years.

In fact, he was still awake when his mother checked in on him in the morning.

* * *

The door opened quietly and Petunia craned her neck around the door, softly calling, "Wake up, Dudders." When she saw that he was, in fact, awake, she opened the door fully in surprise, then beamed indulgently. "Oh, sweetums, up early because it's your birthday?"

Dudley stared, unsure how to continue. The last time he'd seen his mother had been before the twins had shown magical talent. She'd been a frail thing, hair gone white from the stress the war had put on her, and they'd gotten into a row over how she favored the still nonmagical twins over Ariana. Finally, though, he managed a reply that he barely heard, and then she was fussing over him and urging him to get dressed. Feeling rather like he'd been attacked by a small hurricane - had she _always _done this? - Dudley was herded downstairs to the kitchen, where Vernon was poring over the newspaper and a scrawny, dark-haired boy was making breakfast. That, too, was a jarring sight. Vernon had been dead a couple years now, and Harry, well. He'd just seen Harry, the confident war hero, the auror. Dudley forced himself not to stare, suddenly aware that it would draw unwanted attention to the small Not Harry.

"So!" Vernon boomed cheerily, "Eleven! Our Dudley is growing up, eh?" He gestured to Dudley, and Petunia, who still had her guiding hands on his shoulders, pressed a wet, lipstick-y kiss to the side of his face before taking her seat at the table. Dudley, feeling more strange by the second, moved to stand beside his father, who tousled his hair with a chuckle. "All right, have a look," he said, and it took a moment for him to realize that Vernon was talking about the mountain of presents. Dudley stared at them with barely concealed horror.

Harry, bringing breakfast to the table, looked at him curiously, then sat down and began to attack his bacon like it had personally wronged him. Petunia and Vernon, noting his hesitation, exchanged a worried look that Dudley saw reflected in the picture frame across the room. Moving as if in a dream, Dudley went to the presents and picked up the first parcel, turning it over in his hands and wondering what was going on. The phone rang, then, and Petunia went to answer it, and with Harry and Vernon watching, Dudley began to open the presents. None of them were particularly interesting to a man in his thirties, but they were a veritable treasure trove to a child - a racing bike, a VCR, video games. He realized, as he unwrapped a gold wristwatch, that he had no idea how his parents could afford that many presents. Oh, sure, there were a few from other people, but the majority of the presents weren't. The most expensive ones, it seemed, had been bought by the Dursleys.

Petunia returned, looking worried and angry, and Dudley gratefully left the presents alone in favor of listening. "Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction, and all at once, Dudley remembered exactly how things had gone on this particular birthday. The memory was eerily clear, in a way it shouldn't have been, considering it had been twenty-six years. "Now what?"

"We could phone Marge," Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy." Dudley glanced discreetly at Harry, who looked torn between hope and resignation, and decided that illusion or not, he couldn't let things continue as they were.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," Petunia snapped, growing more irate by the moment. Dudley, seeing Harry open his mouth - _"You could just leave me here."_ - interrupted.

"Let's take him with us," he said, and three heads whipped round to stare at him in shock. He put on what he hoped was a belligerent face. "There's no one to leave him with, and you won't leave him in the car. Let him come to the zoo." He tried to speak as if that were the end of the matter, and turned back to his presents before they could shake their disbelief. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Harry's mouth was hanging open in surprise.

"D-Dudley, dear," Petunia said sweetly, getting hold of herself and putting an arm around his shoulders, "you're such a sweet, good boy. I know you don't_ really_ want him to come with us, I'm sure we could find someone to watch him so your day with Piers isn't ruined-"

Piers. Dudley had completely forgotten about him. It would be suspicious if he turned him away, but hell, it was _his_ illusion. "I don't really want to see Piers," he said. "Harry can come instead of him."

A stunned silence fell over the room, and Dudley gathered up the wrappings from his presents, slipping out of his mother's grasp to throw it away. He gathered what items he could easily hold and left the kitchen, taking them upstairs to forget about them. Behind him, he heard Petunia say softly, "They must've had a fight. I'll go call Mrs. Polkiss, let her know." Dudley heard Vernon begin to warn Harry to behave and not do anything Strange or Unnatural, and huffed a laugh, setting his gifts down in the smallest bedroom. He stared thoughtfully at the room, then returned downstairs to bring everything else up. The racing bike was banished to the garden for the time being, and finally, he sat down to eat his cooling breakfast. Vernon and Petunia had, by then, disappeared from the kitchen, though Petunia was likely still on the phone. Harry, meanwhile, was at the sink, the sleeves of his too-large t-shirt rolled up as far as he could get them, scrubbing furiously at the dirty dishes. Dudley frowned, picking at his food.

It had taken Harry several years to stop looking as if he wanted to hex him on sight, for all that they'd gotten in touch after the war and their children grew up as playmates. It had probably helped that Dudley had married Padma Patil - the look on his cousin's face at the wedding had been _priceless_ - but the fact remained that it hadn't been easy for them to become close.

Making a decision, he got to his feet, and Harry looked up, startled and alarmed. "Harry," he said, putting on the belligerent face again, "Finish up my breakfast, I don't want it." And he elbowed Harry away from the sink as gently as he could before taking up the washing himself.

"I-" Harry started, but fell into a frustrated silence, unable to think of anything to say.

"Go on," Dudley said gruffly. "Don't make yourself sick." He could feel the smaller boy hover uncertainly behind him, before moving away, and when Dudley glanced back, Harry was shooting wary looks at the door as he ate. It seemed that for the moment, he'd chosen to count his blessings and, while he certainly wouldn't trust Dudley, figured that if he could finish quickly enough, no one would suspect anything.

So focused was he on keeping an eye on Harry that he was astonished to find that all the dishes were clean and neatly put away. While Dudley stared, perplexed, Harry shuffled up behind him and attempted to regain control of the sink so he could take care of his now-empty plate and his silverware. Dudley obliged, then took the dishes once they'd been washed and quickly dried them before putting them away. They stood in awkward silence a moment, before Harry blurted, "Why are you being nice?"

Without thinking, Dudley replied, "Because it's not right, the way they - _we_ - treat you." Harry stared at him. Before either could say anything else, though Petunia returned. She hesitated, then smiled at Dudley and straightened his hair.

"Mrs. Polkiss is bringing over your presents that she and Piers got you, and then we'll be on our way to the zoo, sweetums," she cooed. "Why don't you go play with your new things?"

Dudley glanced at Harry, then looked up at his mother with wide-eyed innocence. "Mum, I've been thinking." He heard Harry snort softly in spite of himself, and had to struggle not to grin. Even he had to admit that his younger self hadn't been fond of the exercise. "Can't Harry have the smaller bedroom? It hasn't got anything important in it, and-" Dudley hurried to think up something slightly believable, "-I, er, want the cupboard to put things in." It was thin, too thin, but he'd never been much good at lying.

Petunia looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, and her smile looked more like a grimace. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Yes of course. Anything for you, my darling." To Harry, she snapped, "Get your things upstairs in five minutes or you'll be sleeping in the garden shed."

Harry shot Dudley a look of pure disbelief, then darted out of the kitchen. Swallowing a grin, Dudley made himself beam at his mother before escaping upstairs.

* * *

They made it to the zoo without anything too horrible happening, despite Vernon's rage at the traffic (and at Harry's poorly timed comment about flying motorcycles), and once they were there, the boys spent most of their time trailing behind the adults, who were trying rather desperately to get Dudley excited about the animals. Honestly, he couldn't even remember why his younger self had wanted to go to the zoo in the first place, but he obligingly looked at every exhibit they passed. Harry, on the other hand, was staring at everything, head swiveling round sometimes so sharply that Dudley half-worried that it'd come right off. When they stopped for ice cream, Dudley ordered two and gave one to Harry, and the lady in the van cooed over what a sweet boy Dudley was, which made his parents immediately puff themselves up in pride and forget their annoyance at Harry having anything nice.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. Dudley kept an eye on Harry and made sure to keep a reasonable distance away, because he didn't remember exactly how the snake had got out, but if it happened again, then Harry would be locked in the cupboard for a very long time.

Dudley felt, afterwards, that he should've realized he wouldn't be so lucky.

One moment, he was looking at a lizard with his parents and trying not to worry about the cage thing, and the next, Petunia was grabbing Vernon's sleeve and hissing, "Vernon! That stupid boy is talking to a snake. People are starting to stare, make him stop it this instant!"

Vernon made a beeline for Harry, who was obliviously chatting with a familiar boa constrictor. Dudley hurried after his father, and arrived in time to hear Harry utter a series of complicated hissing noises before Vernon grabbed him by the arm. He was red-faced and gearing up for a good rant when Dudley suddenly tripped and crashed into him. Vernon dropped Harry, and, somehow, the glass on the cage disappeared, and Dudley stared up from the floor as Vernon fell in. The boa constrictor, meanwhile, took his leave, pausing only to hiss something at Harry before slithering away, snapping playfully at the heels of the now-panicking zoo patrons. Harry and Dudley exchanged a horrified look, then turned to stare at Vernon, who'd gotten to his feet and was now beating his fist on the suddenly restored glass and roaring angrily.

The zoo director apologized to them personally and offered tea, but Vernon, newly released from the cage and bristling with anger, completely ignored him in favor of hauling everyone out to the car. The drive home was uncomfortably silent, and when they finally arrived, Vernon banished Harry to the cupboard, only to get even angrier when he was reminded that Harry had relocated to the smallest bedroom. He collapsed on the sofa, Petunia hurrying to fetch him a brandy, and Harry fled upstairs. Dudley deemed it safest to follow, and spent the rest of the afternoon helping Harry attempt to quietly clean the room up. They didn't speak much, but by the time dinner was ready, they'd managed to clear most of the useless junk out.

Things continued in this fashion until July. Harry still had to do chores, but Dudley would help, and when Harry inevitably got yelled at for something, they'd hide in Harry's new room. Dudley didn't dare push his parents too far, not when Harry's Hogwarts letter wasn't too far in the future, and he was wary of trying too hard to be nice to Harry, who was suspicious of this new Dudley, but he did his best to see that Harry was left alone at school. Slowly, the two entered into an uneasy alliance, despite Harry's initial misgivings, though the closer they got to July, the quieter Dudley became. He was beginning to think that, somehow, none of this was an illusion, and the hows and whys were a heavy weight on his mind. Nevertheless, he expected events to be much the same as they had the first time around, and it was quite a shock for him when they didn't.

* * *

He was in the kitchen with Harry eating cereal, the both of them pretending they couldn't smell the clothing Petunia was dyeing on the stove, when the doorbell rang. Vernon shouted from a distant corner of the house, and Dudley got to his feet before Petunia could order Harry to the door. "I'll get it," he said as he slipped out of the room, and made his way quietly to the front door. He was pretty sure this was the day the letter came, but when he looked down at the mail in front of the door, he didn't see parchment. He picked it up anyway, then opened the door and found himself staring at a witch.

In fact, he realized faintly, it wasn't just any witch; it was Minerva McGonagall. He'd only met her once or twice, and then only because she was headmistress in his time - Ariana was in Hufflepuff, so he was much more familiar with Professor Sprout - but there was no mistaking her, though she was definitely younger. Dudley swallowed, then realized he was staring and said, "Er, may I help you?"

"I believe so," she said, looking as if she was used to seeing gobsmacked expressions on people's faces. "Are your parents at home?"

"Yes," Dudley said, then quickly jerked the door open fully and stepped aside. "Please, er, come in." She inclined her head, then entered the house in a graceful swish of robes, and he shut the door behind her before hurrying to the kitchen. "Mum, someone's here to see you and dad," he said, a little breathlessly, and quickly sat at the table as McGonagall swept in. Petunia looked up, then shrieked. Harry jumped, startled, and Vernon came barrelling downstairs, emerging in the kitchen with a glob of shaving cream stuck to his cheek.

"What's happened?" he demanded, then caught sight of McGonagall and turned a strange, pasty color. The shaving cream slid gently down his slack face and splattered on the floor.

The witch merely raised an eyebrow, then produced two thick envelopes from a pocket. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I am Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, and I have come to personally deliver these." She handed the letters to Harry and Dudley, both of whom were in a state of shock.

"This- this can't be right," Dudley whispered, staring down at his, but just like Harry's, it was addressed to the very room he slept in.

Mr. D. Dursley

The Second Largest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

"I assure you, Mr. Dursley," McGonagall said, voice surprisingly gentle, "there is no mistake."

Harry, meanwhile, had opened his letter and quickly begun reading. "Hang on," he said, "What does this mean?" He looked up at the Deputy Headmistress with wide, uncertain eyes. "I - we're - _magic_?"

"You are both wizards." She eyed them, then gave Petunia a stern look. "You haven't told them about Hogwarts? I can't say I'm surprised that your boy doesn't know, but you kept Harry's heritage from him?" The small boy was looking from one woman to the other, eyes still huge as saucers, but Dudley forced himself to open his letter, hands shaking. He skimmed the acceptance letter and focused on the supplies list, committing it to memory in case the letters were taken away.

"We _swore_," Vernon said, voice rising dangerously with every word, "when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish, swore we'd stamp it out of him! And now he's infected _our son_-!" He cut off abruptly, face turning purple as he struggled to speak, and McGonagall put away her wand.

"I see," she said, and looked at Petunia. "I suppose you feel the same?" The other woman turned away and shut the stove off.

"I did," she whispered. "I did. But now..." She trailed off helplessly.

"Er, ma'am," Dudley spoke up, drawing the attention away from his parents, "how are we to pay for all these supplies? And - and attending?" He knew, of course, but he wanted to keep everyone focused.

McGonagall looked at him in surprise, then smiled thinly. "Attendance is free to all, Mr. Dursley, and we give a small allowance to Muggleborns like yourself for supplies. You have an account at Gringotts - that's our bank - and I've the key with me."

"What's a Muggleborn?" Harry interrupted, and Dudley realized belatedly that he would be expected to ask these questions too.

"A Muggle is a non-magical person," the Deputy Headmistress explained patiently. "A Muggleborn is a witch or wizard born to two non-magical people. Now, I have a great deal to explain to all of you, but first I need at least one parent to consent to you boys attending." She looked at Vernon and raised her eyebrows, then, ignoring the rude gesture he made, turned to Petunia. After a long, tense moment, Petunia nodded sharply, as if it pained her to do so. McGonagall produced a piece of paper and a pen, and Petunia signed it, not even bothering to read what it said.

"Excellent," McGonagall said dryly, and turned to the boys. "Shall we move to the sitting room? Good." She waved her wand at Vernon as she led them out, and as the kitchen door closed behind him, they could hear Vernon begin to shout. McGonagall perched on the armchair while Harry and Dudley took up the sofa, then said, "I have a great deal to explain. I thought I might tell Mr. Potter in private, but I think it would benefit you both to hear what I have to say."

She told them about Harry's parents, explaining in as much detail as she could once she realized Harry didn't know a thing, and that Harry would be famous in the wizarding world, and how there were classes on penmanship and etiquette they could take so they wouldn't feel lost. She was very patient and answered all their questions without hesitation. A few minutes into the discussion, Petunia drifted in to sit on the other side of Dudley, and though she didn't ask questions of her own, McGonagall made a point of reassurring her that Dudley would be well taken care of. Finally, she arranged a date with Petunia to take the three of them into Diagon Alley to pick up supplies, and after polite farewells, left. Petunia quietly herded Dudley and Harry upstairs, then went to the room she shared with Vernon and shut the door.


	3. Diagon Alley

**CHAPTER TWO**

The morning of the Diagon Alley trip, two days after Harry's birthday and half an hour after a particularly tense breakfast, Harry cornered Dudley with a glare that reminded him alarmingly of a much older version of his cousin. Hands on his hips, glasses slowly slipping down his nose, Harry said, "Did you know about all this?" Caught by surprise, Dudley stared at him blankly, and the small boy waved an arm. "This - this wizard stuff. And my parents."

Dudley shook his head. "No. I mean, I kinda thought there was something different about you, but..." He shrugged helplessly. Anything further would be an outright lie, and Harry in any incarnation, no matter the size, would see right through it.

Fortunately, this Harry didn't press further, his fierceness fading away as he looked thoughtfully towards the kitchen. They could still hear Petunia and Vernon talking in tight, quiet voices, and neither was inclined to eavesdrop. After a moment, Harry said, "I guess we should get ready."

They'd barely finished showering and dressing when the doorbell rang, and Vernon retreated upstairs, his footsteps heavy with anger. He didn't spare either boy a look before shutting himself in the master bedroom, and the boys were too busy hastily shoving the supply lists in their pockets to notice. Finally, they thumped down the stairs, and found themselves face to face with a faintly smiling McGonagall. Petunia emerged from the downstairs bathroom a moment later, patting her hair into place, pale but composed. "How shall we be traveling?" she asked, straining to be polite.

"I think it best to take a private car," McGonagall said. "Some teachers prefer the Knight Bus, but I find it a little too... hectic, for my tastes."

The car in question was a rickety old thing that looked as if it would fall apart at the slightest touch, and the man in the driver's seat had such a strange, lumpy face that Dudley and Harry were hard-pressed to figure out whether or not he was human. The four of them climbed into the back seat, which was much roomier than they'd imagined. In fact, there was more on the inside than on the out, and Petunia's eyes were large as she settled onto one of the plush red velvet seats. As soon as everyone was buckled in, the car slowly began to move. It wasn't the smoothest ride, especially once they began to go a little faster than was strictly legal, but McGonagall served them fresh, hot tea out of a hidden compartment and, after a moment of searching, biscuits from a tin that had rolled under a seat. Harry and Dudley, fascinated, fought valiantly not to poke at things, and Petunia began to relax a little, soothed by the tea.

McGonagall sat back in satisfaction, sipping her own. "Now, our first stop will be Gringotts, the bank," she explained. "We will open Dudley's account, and the account Harry inherited from his parents will be officially handed over to him. After that, we'll see to the school supplies, and you may pick up whatever little things you might like." She smiled knowingly at the boys, who grinned back. "This car will take you home after, though I am afraid I cannot accompany you back to Surrey. Once I am done showing you around Diagon Alley, I must be on my way."

Dudley, accepting this, sat back and gazed out the window as Harry began to bombard McGonagall with questions. Their car seemed to contort itself - on the outside, at least, for he didn't actually feel anything - and slip through the traffic as easily as a knife through butter. None of the Muggles noticed, and Dudley wondered how many enchantments, exactly, were on their vehicle. He and Padma had talked about magic a great deal, even before Ariana was accepted to Hogwarts, so he knew a little. Sometimes, though, the thought process behind what was enchanted and how many spells were used was just perplexing. It could be as simple as one spell, or it could be as complex as twenty.

An idea occured to him, then, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. This was something else Padma had taught him - meditation. She explained that some magical persons liked to use it to get in touch with their magic, but that it was something Muggles did, too. Now, he was astonished to find that instead of the gaping emptyness he was used to, there was a tiny spark of something else. It was fragile, but bright, and he touched it gently with his mind. A faint warmth filled him, and he smiled before carefully focusing his mind. He stretched his senses out to the car, and the back of his eyelids lit up like a Christmas tree. He had no idea which spells did what, or even how many there actually were, but he could see them, and it was breathtaking. It soon made his eyes ache, however, so he drew back and settled himself before opening them and blinking in the sunlight. He was a little puzzled to find his face smooshed against the window.

"Dudley, wake up, dear." his mother said, touching his arm, and he peeled his face from the window, rubbing his eyes. "You slept the whole way. We're here." Her voice trembled a little, and Dudley offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile before they climbed out of the car. McGonagall and Harry waited on the curb, and behind them was the Leaky Cauldron. It looked a great deal different than he remembered, shabbier and older, with decades of dirt caked on, and he realized that he was seeing it before the war. He wondered if he would still recognize Diagon Alley, and then if he would see the destruction in the future.

Not noticing his sudden frown, Petunia and Harry followed McGonagall to the pub. "-not the only entrance, of course, but for many families it's the most convenient one," she was saying as Dudley caught up to them. She pushed the door open and they all entered the noisy building. Dudley smiled - if everything else was different, then the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron were not much different. Hadn't he had a pint or two with that wizard in the corner? Though they'd both been older, at the time.

The barman looked up as they entered and beamed. "Minerva! Collecting new students, are we?"

"Quite so, Tom," McGonagall said, smiling, but before she could say more, there was a cry of "Harry Potter!", and the room went still as the grave. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, McGonagall placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "Yes, this is Harry Potter, but I'll thank all of you to control yourselves." She looked severely around the room as excited whispers started up. Despite this, there was a great scraping of chairs, and suddenly, Harry was shaking hands with everyone, even Tom.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back," the old man said, beaming, before he was replaced by another.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop." Dudley looked closer at the strange man, and a memory stirred. He hadn't, at the time, noticed much about the man who'd bowed to Harry, but he supposed Diggle could be that man. This memory, like several others, was alarmingly clear for being so old, while more recent memories like the incident at Platform 9 3/4 were strangely faded, and lately he was wondering if his mind hadn't got scrambled when he time traveled.

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"

"That's all very well," McGonagall cut in sternly, "but we must be moving on. Mr. Potter and his cousin need their school supplies."

There was another quick round of handshakes for Harry, who was looking a bit dazed, before McGonagall herded them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

"Will it always be like that?" Harry asked faintly.

McGonagall looked down at him, and her face softened. "Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid so." She lifted her wand and pointed at the wall above the trash can. "Boys, please pay attention. You shall have to tap this brick three times with your wand in order to enter. While we are out today, I will show you to another entrance that your mother can access without need of one." She tapped the brick gently, three times, then put her wand away.

The brick quivered, and in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider, and within moments, there was a large archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Harry let out an awed gasp, eyes huge, and even Petunia looked grudgingly impressed. Dudley, who had seen it before, grinned broadly and stepped through. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," McGonagall said, smiling, then led them down the road. Harry turned his head to watch as the archway disappeared behind them, leaving a solid wall in its place.

Harry and Dudley gazed around them in awe, and even Petunia looked with interest at all the strange and wonderful shops. Everything was bursting with life, warm and colorful and undamaged by war. Dudley hadn't realized just how somber Diagon Alley was, even nineteen years after the war. As they passed the apothecary, they overheard a plump witch saying, with a shake of her head, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

Wondering absently what dragon liver cost in 2017, Dudley ambled along, noting differences in the Alley with some consternation, and gazing in surprise at the empty shop where Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes should have stood. He knew, of course, that the Weasley twins hadn't set up shop until 1996, but it was still strange not to see George puttering around inside and charming his customers, even if he'd never been particularly close to him.

Eventually, they reached Gringotts, and once inside, Dudley and Petunia were given the key to Dudley's account and sent off to one of the goblins to open it. The goblin attending them, Gornuk, patiently guided them through the necessary paperwork, of which there was surprisingly little. He warned them that the allowance was sent to the account only once a year, and the amount would not change. In the end, they were to receive an allowance of eleven Galleons a year, an amount that Gornuk assured them was more than enough. He also said that it would be no problem to exchange Muggle money for Wizarding money, and Petunia took that opportunity to do so. The goblin fiddled with something behind his desk for a moment, then wrote up a receipt and told them the money was now in Dudley's account, and would they like to make a withdrawal?

A long cart ride later, they collected the Sickles that Petunia had put in and taken all but two of the Galleons, just to be safe, before returning to the lobby. McGonagall and Harry were waiting for them, and Dudley fished the supply list from his pocket as the group exited the bank. He read the list aloud as Petunia put the little bag of coins in her purse and Harry attempted to stuff his own in his pocket.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantasic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Petunia frowned down at her purse. "Can we afford all that?" she wondered under her breath, and McGonagall reached out to gently pat her shoulder.

"It seems like a great deal," she said, "but it isn't very costly, in the end. Shall we fit the boys for robes, first?"

When they reached Madam Malkin's, they found that there was another customer inside. In the back of the shop, a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth was standing on a footstool while a witch pinned up her robes. Two Muggles, the girl's parents, were standing awkwardly in a corner, the man buried in a magazine. Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, bustled over to the group. "Minerva, good to see you!" she said warmly, pressing the Professor's hand. "Two, then?" She eyed Dudley and Harry, as if already measuring them.

"Yes, thank you," McGonagall said. "Just the usual school clothing, if you please." She looked to Petunia, who nodded before wandering off to have a look at some of the displays. Dudley and Harry were made to stand on two footstools near the bushy-haired girl, who looked at them with interest.

"Hello," she said, a little shyly. "Hogwarts too?"

Dudley, who was trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar, only nodded, but Harry smiled and said, "Yeah, we're first years. Are you Muggleborn too?"

At this, the girl brightened. "Yes, and I'm ever so excited! We thought it was a joke at first, you know, because the letter came before the wizard who explained things. Have you got your books yet?"

Harry seemed a little taken aback by the onslaught, so Dudley came to his rescue. "Er, no, we just got here. We thought it wasn't real too, but Professor McGonagall brought our letters to us."

"Oh!" The girl smiled. "We just got here too. My name's Hermione Granger." She extended her hand so quickly she nearly knocked Harry off his stool, and Madam Malkin tsked at her. Harry gingerly shook her hand, and Dudley leaned past him to do the same, trying not to stare. The Hermione he knew was vastly different from this excited little thing, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"I'm Harry Potter, and this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley," the small boy said as Dudley settled back on his stool. He was braced for another outcry, but none came. Instead, Hermione looked thoughtful.

"Do you know," she said at length, "I think I've heard your name around."

"He's famous," Malkin's assistant said around the pins in her mouth, tweaking the fabric of Hermione's robes into place. "Defeated the You-Know-Who as a baby, he did."

Hermione's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. "How is _that_ possible?" she demanded, sounding a little bossy. "Whoever this person is, a baby is just a baby."

Dudley and Harry exchanged a glance as the story was relayed to Hermione, who expressed skepticism at each new development. They hurriedly looked away, fighting grins.

Eventually, the fittings were through, and the three children were dismissed after giving their addresses so that the robes could be sent to them. Petunia paid for Dudley's while Harry paid for his own, and were both pleasantly surprised at how little the robes cost. The Grangers, relieved to not be the only Muggles in the Alley, gladly accepted Petunia's invitation to shop with them, and the group made their way to Flourish and Blotts. Along the way, Hermione asked McGonagall what quidditch was, and the witch was happy to explain.

And then there were books. Dudley and Hermione picked up a few extras, and Harry, who was a bit overwhelmed by everything, decided he would just have a look at their books when they were done with them. The school books were put into special weightless shopping bags that were only a Knut extra, and the group moved on, stopping briefly so that McGonagall could show them where the other, more Muggle-friendly entrance to the Alley was. Finally, a few cauldrons, phials, and longing glances at brooms later, they descended on Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and settled gratefully into chairs. When they all had an ice cream or a cold drink in hand, McGonagall announced that all they had left was wands and, maybe, pets. "After that, I shall have to leave you," she said regretfully. "Petunia, the car will be waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when you exit. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I assume you have a similar vehicle that will be waiting?" Two nods. "Wonderful. Don't worry about getting one confused for the either, you'll need to tell the driver your destination in any case."

Harry, who was doing his best to put a dent in the massive ice cream he'd bought (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), watched in some confusion as Hermione wrestled one of her books free from a shopping bag. Careful not to let her blueberry sherbet drip on anything, she thumbed through the pages, fascinated. "Did you know," she said aloud to Harry and Dudley, "we'll be sorted into different houses?"

"How many are there?" Harry asked, mildly alarmed at this revelation.

Hermione hummed and ate a spoonful of sherbet before answering. "Four," she said, licking her lips and going for another spoonful. "Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff." She stumbled over the words and looked at McGonagall, who gave her a small nod. "The book doesn't say how it's done, though. Professor, would you tell us?"

"Oh, it's simple enough," McGonagall said. "We place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it looks into your mind and decides which house would be best for you. Each house has a variety of people, of course, but each can be summed up with one word. For Gryffindor, that would be bravery; for Slytherin, cunning; for Ravenclaw, cleverness; and for Hufflepuff, loyalty. There is a good deal more to it, naturally."

Only Dudley seemed to notice the way her voice darkened when she spoke about Slytherin, but Hermione was already asking the important questions. "Which is the best house to go to?" she asked, frowning.

McGonagall looked amused. "There is no 'best house'. All are equal." Which wasn't quite true, Dudley knew, because he'd heard the stories. "And all houses," she added, looking at Harry knowingly, "have a quidditch team. Though I should like to remind you, Mr. Potter, that you cannot try out until next year."

Harry drooped momentarily, then perked up. "Will there be flying lessons?" At the answering yes, he fairly glowed with delight, and returned to his ice cream with gusto.

Once the ice creams were finished, the group roused itself and made for Ollivander's. The shop was narrow and shabby, but in better condition than Dudley had last seen it. The peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion. McGonagall pushed the door open, but there was really only room for the children, Petunia, and Mrs. Granger, so she and Mr. Granger remained outside. The echoes of a tinkling bell faded to a heavy silence as the five stepped inside, and the tiny place was empty but for a single, spindly chair. Everyone remained standing, looking with interest at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Everyone jumped a little in surprise, for an old man was now standing before them, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Hermione, recovering first. "Are you Mr. Ollivander?"

"Yes," the old man said pleasantly. "Muggleborn, I see, and two of you! Always good to have fresh faces." He peered at Harry, smiling faintly. "And, yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was here herself, buying her first wand." His eyes darted to Petunia, then back to Harry. "Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

As he spoke, he moved closer to Harry, who looked torn between curiosity and discomfort. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. And that's where..." He stretched out a bony hand, gently touching the scar on Harry's forehead with a long, pale finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shook his head, then turned to Hermione. "Well, let me see. Miss Granger -" Hermione started, clearly wondering how he knew her name. "- which is your wand arm?"

"I, er, I'm right-handed," she said, blinking.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." Ollivander measured her from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round her head, the tape measure floating around on its own. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

"That will do for Miss Granger," he said, moving to the shelves and poking through the boxes, and the tape measure moved on to Harry, to Hermione's relief.

Ollivander placed a wand into her hand, and at his urging, she gave it a little flick. A few boxes tumbled from one of the shelves, and the wand was immediately replaced. Only two wands later, however, she waved the one in her hand and bright ribbons of color shot out. Ollivander clapped his hands in delight, saying, "Vine wood and dragon heartstring, ten-and-three-quarters. Excellent!" He placed the wand back into its box, wrapped it in brown paper, and handed it to Hermione. Mrs. Granger paid the seven galleons, and the two of them stepped back so Harry could get his wand. Ollivander was already thrusting a wand into the boy's hand.

As for Dudley, he had just finished being measured, the tape collapsing to the floor. He watched as Harry got more and more frustrated, the pile of tried wands growing with each increasingly upset hand wave, and thought about saying something when a thoughtful look came to Ollivander's wizened face. "I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry gingerly took the wand, as if afraid it might bite him, and almost immediately his expression turned into one of hesitant delight. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks poured from the wand, hanging in the air like fireworks before disappearing. Hermione cheered, and Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put the wand back into its box and wrapped it as he had Hermione's, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

"Sorry," said Harry, "but _what's_ curious?"

Those pale eyes fixed on Harry once again, making the boy fidget uncomfortably. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar."

A chill went down Dudley's back, and everything seemed a little void of color. No one else seemed to feel it - Harry looked troubled, but more confused than anything, probably because Ollivander was still talking, and Hermione only looked thoughtful. Petunia and Mrs. Granger shared a look that said they both thought Ollivander was being a little melodramatic.

And just like that, it was Dudley's turn to get a wand.

Hermione and Harry watched anxiously as Dudley went through wand after wand, nearly as many as Harry had, and he began to feel uneasy himself. He wasn't Harry, destined for greatness. He was a former Muggle who was only here by accident, and by some fluke had got magic. He even began to doubt that, after a while, and a glance at the others made it clear that Petunia was worried too. Ollivander, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

"I do so love a challenge," he said, and, clucking his tongue, plucked another wand from Dudley's grasp. He disappeared amongst the shelves for a moment, rattling boxes as he went, then brought back an incredibly dusty armful of them and plonked them down on the rickety chair. He picked through them, dismissing some and considering others, until at last he picked up a particularly old and tatty box. "Now, this is an unusual wand - twelve inches, alder, with a core of, well, coral. Used to be a very popular core some years ago, and, hmm, alder is a funny wood - but I think..." He pulled out the wand and handed it over, and Dudley took it from him.

It was surprisingly heavy, with a rough, stony texture, and as he held it, his fingers grew warm and tingly. He lifted the wand, then gave it a firm flick, and one of the windows turned a brilliant shade of violet. Ollivander beamed in satisfaction as Hermione and Harry let out cries of delight. Dudley reluctantly handed the wand over to be boxed, then held the package close once Ollivander wrapped it. Petunia counted out the Galleons, then wrapped Dudley in a tight hug, eyes wet with tears. He wasn't sure if she was proud or upset.

They exited the shop and found that getting their wands had taken longer than they'd thought, for McGonagall, immediately after congratulating the children, regretfully said her goodbyes. After she left in a swirl of cape, the group headed for Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione, who didn't particularly want a pet, instead helped Dudley pick out his owl. Harry had made a beeline for a familiar snowy owl, and was already asking the shop attendant what he should buy to take care of her. Dudley, on the other hand, was having a little more trouble. He knew that they couldn't afford any of the more expensive birds, but he wanted to make a good choice. He was staring thoughtfully at a screech owl, which eyed him with clear distaste, when Hermione called his name.

"Over here!" she said excitedly. "I think you might like this one."

This one was a barn owl that was seated on a perch beside its cage. It was smaller than the others, and while it completely ignored the nearby owls and Hermione, it fixed Dudley with the most unsettling stare he'd ever seen. Without thinking, he reached out a hand, and it stepped gently up without a lick of hesitation. They considered each other a moment before the owl walked boldly up his arm and settled comfortably on his shoulder. Hermione beamed, and Dudley couldn't help but grin back. "I think you're right," he said with a chuckle, and fortunately, the price was one they could afford. He picked up the cage and went to show Petunia, who wasn't terrible interested, but gave him enough money to buy the owl, cage, and some owl treats.

After, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione excitedly opening the wall for them with her new wand, and soon found themselves on the curb out front, packing their shopping into two cars. Petunia and the Grangers exchanged phone numbers, and arranged to meet at King's Cross before the train arrived on September 1st. Hermione hugged Harry and Dudley, to their mutual surprise, and after cheery goodbyes, they parted ways. On the trip back to Privet Drive, Harry fell asleep. Dudley, tired as he was, found himself unable to do the same, and he sat quietly with Petunia the whole way.

As they pulled up to the house, she grew ever more tense, and once they'd exited the car with their arms full of shopping bags and owl cages, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Harry, yawning and contorting in order to rub sleep from his eyes, didn't notice, but Dudley did, and he soon saw why - the house was dark, and the car was gone. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Dudley followed Petunia to the front door and pretended not to notice when her hands shook as she unlocked the house. The house inside seemed unchanged, but there was a note on the kitchen table, and Dudley knew without seeing that most of Vernon's things were gone.

"Dudley," Petunia said, her voice fragile as glass, "I'm afraid I'm too tired to cook tonight, pumpkin. Why don't you order some pizza?" And she pressed a few bills into his hand before taking the note and drifting upstairs. Her bedroom door closed a few moments later with a quiet click.

Harry was the first to break the silence. "What's happened?" he asked slowly.

Dudley rolled his shoulders. "I reckon they're going to split," he said after a moment. "Here, let's get dinner and go through our things as we eat. What d'you want on your pizza?"


	4. Journey to Hogwarts

**CHAPTER THREE**

August passed quickly, full of letters from Hermione and overnight stays with Mrs. Figg. Petunia never said as much, but Dudley and Harry were pretty sure she was house-hunting, if the shouting matches she had with Vernon over the phone were any indication. But now it was the first of September, and as they passed through King's Cross Station behind the Grangers, with whom they'd had breakfast, the anxiety that Dudley had been fighting all day reared its ugly head.

Harry, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself. They'd gone out the day before, and Petunia had bought him Muggle clothing that actually fit. It was from the thrift store, but it was a vast improvement, and afterwards, she'd taken him to get his eyes examined and purchased new glasses. They were round, just like the old ones, but they stayed on better and as they returned home, he'd gawked at everything, amazed at all the detail he'd been missing. He was doing it again as they made their way through the station, and only keeping hold of the trolley with his owl and trunk was keeping him from falling over himself. Even as the thought crossed Dudley's mind, Harry tripped over his shoelaces again, and Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Honestly," she said, then, "Dudley, what is the incantation and uses of the Mending Charm?"

Dudley stared blankly at her for a moment before realizing she was quizzing him. "Er, _reparo_. It fixes most everything, but isn't meant to be used on people or animals. It also doesn't work on things like wands." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said, "What are the, er, key ingredients in a forgetfulness potion?"

"Two drops of Lethe River water," said Hermione, tapping her fingers on the handle of the trolley as she counted, "Valerian sprigs, and mistletoe berries. Harry, what's a bezoar?"

Harry uttered an alarmed squeak at being pulled into the game, and stammered out a quick reply before shooting a question at Dudley. Hermione had insisted on the three of them quizzing each other on their schoolbooks for the remainder of the summer, and Dudley was grateful for the distraction. He forced himself to think of nothing but the things he'd read, and almost didn't look all the strange looks they got from the Muggles they passed. When they reached platforms nine and ten, the group stood a moment, staring uncomfortably at the barrier until Hermione got fed up waiting and barreled through. The rest followed her example, and Dudley closed his eyes out of habit.

Platform 9 3/4 looked much the same as it had when he'd last seen it. It felt as if it had been ages since then, and yet at the same time, as if it had all happened only yesterday. If Dudley squinted a little, he could almost make out familiar faces in the steam. He swallowed thickly, vision beginning to swim, then heard a laugh that nearly stopped his heart. It sounded exactly like Ariana, and he almost shouted for her before remembering that there _was_ no Ariana here. That thought, which he'd been carefully avoiding since this whole thing began, and the sound of something heavy being dropped, stopped him cold, and suddenly he was watching as the platform around him was destroyed. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move despite the panic welling up in his chest, and he suddenly realized he couldn't breathe, as if something heavy was on top of him. He dimly heard concerned voices, and felt someone grabbing at him, but he forced his eyes shut and ignored them, uttering a strangled noise.

Then a wave of calm washed over him, and his breathing slowly returned to normal. Dudley felt the tension leave him, and hesitantly blinked his eyes open. A redheaded man was crouched in front of him, concerned, but as he saw Dudley's eyes open, he smiled gently. "There you are, lad," he said, and offered him a hand. "Think you can stand, or do you need a moment?"

Dudley, disconcerted to find himself on the ground, lifted an arm that felt like it was made of lead and grasped the wizard's hand. The man helped him shakily stand, and waited patiently until he had his balance before putting away his wand and an empty glass phial. Realizing his face was wet from tears, Dudley quickly rubbed his face with his sleeve, and looked up at the pale faces of his family, the Grangers, and a large, redheaded family. "How did you do that?" he asked the wizard, and was alarmed at how wobbly his voice was.

"I spelled a Calming Draught into you," the man said, a little apologetic. "I tried to get you to drink it first, of course."

"Thank you, Mister...?" Petunia trailed off uncertainly, and the wizard beamed at her.

"Weasley, Arthur Weasley. It was my pleasure! Lucky I had it on me," he said, offering his hand. Petunia shook it, smiling faintly, then turned to Dudley, hesitantly touching him on the shoulder.

"How are you feeling, pumpkin?" she asked, lifting her hand to smooth his hair.

Dudley considered the question. He could still feel echoes of anxiety, but the Calming Draught was doing its job well. "I feel fine," he said sheepishly, looking away. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. I -" He cast about for a suitable explanation, then muttered, "- I'm just really nervous. I'm sorry."

Petunia breathed a sigh of relief, then drew him into a hug. "I'm just glad you're all right," she said, and kissed his forehead. "Are you sure you want to go to - to school right now? I'm sure we can put it off a little..."

Pulling away and taking a deep breath, Dudley looked up at her and smiled. "No, I'm okay. I'll nap on the train."

Satisfied that the danger was over, they all made their way to the train to find compartments, and the Weasleys introduced themselves. It was strange to see Ron and Ginny as children, and everyone was so much more carefree than they had been the last time Dudley saw them. Ron was particularly taken with Harry, but didn't seem to know how to act around Hermione and Dudley, which was just as well, because neither of them were quite sure what to do with him either. The four of them found an empty compartment, though, and with the help of Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger, got their trunks and owls safely loaded onto the train. Then there were goodbye hugs, and Petunia called Dudley "Diddykins", which sent Ron into such a fit of laughter that he almost choked. Not a moment later, Dudley had his revenge when Mrs. Weasley tried to spit-wash a speck of dirt on Ron's nose. Finally, though, all the children were on the train, and they waved until their families were out of sight.

"So," Ron said to Harry as they settled down, sounding as if he'd been aching to ask, "have you really got the, y'know, scar?"

Harry blushed, but obligingly lifted his messy fringe so Ron could see. "It's not terribly interesting," he said sheepishly, but Ron was very impressed.

"So that's where You-Know-Who -?"

"Yes," said Harry, letting his hair fall back into place, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry's reply made her frown.

"Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then quickly busied himself with petting the rat in his lap.

Dudley cleared his throat. "So, are all your family wizards?" he asked, and Ron looked at him in surprise.

"Er - yes, I think so," he said. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"You must know loads of magic already, then," put in Hermione, who sounded both envious and excited.

Ron went a bit red around the ears and muttered something unintelligible, then said desperately to Harry, "I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like?"

Dudley couldn't help sinking down into the seat a little, the usual guilt tromping back in to set up camp in his heart, and Hermione glanced nervously from him to Harry. She knew the full story by now - or at least, the full story minus the time travel - and was clearly worried that this question would cause a rift between her two friends.

"Well," said Harry thoughtfully, "it wasn't so great at first. But this summer, before we got our letters, everything changed. Muggles aren't that bad, honestly. I think they probably aren't much different from wizards aside from the magic thing." He glanced at Dudley and smiled briefly, and the tension broke. Hermione beamed, and Ron just looked a little puzzled, as though that hadn't quite been the answer he'd been looking for. After a moment, Harry added, "I do wish I could've had three wizard brothers though. _And _a witch sister."

"Five brothers," Ron said gloomily. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first."

Hermione snorted. "How do you think your sister feels?" At Ron's blank look, she said, "Oh, come on! She'll have to put up with everything you just said, _and_ she's the only girl. That's a lot of pressure on its own!"

"She's a girl, though," Ron protested. "She doesn't have to wear our hand-me-downs, and mum and dad baby her all the time."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort angrily when there was a knock on the door. Harry, who was closest, slid it open to reveal a pudgy, miserable looking boy. "Er, sorry," he said nervously, "but have you seen a toad?"

The question took them all by surprise, but after a moment, they all shook their heads, and the boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," Harry said, at a loss.

Taking pity on him, Dudley stood up. "Here, I'll help you look," he said amiably. "What's your name?"

The boy gaped at him, then said, "N-Neville Longbottom. Er, thank you." He backed out, and Dudley followed, turning at the last minute to grin at his friends.

"Don't let Hermione eat Ron alive," he stage-whispered to Harry, who laughed in spite of himself. Hermione shrieked and dug in her pockets for something to throw a him.

"Dudley Dursley, I would never!" she cried, half-laughing, and threw an empty chewing gum wrapper at him before he could get the door closed. Even Ron was laughing by the time Dudley and Neville left the compartment behind.

"Dursley? Muggleborn, then?" Neville asked tentatively.

"That's right," Dudley said. "I take it you're not?"

Neville nodded. "Pureblood," he said ruefully. "Th-though you wouldn't think it. I'm not very magical at all."

Dudley hmmed and scanned the hall for signs that a toad had been through. "Well, no worries. Ron is a Weasley, and he doesn't seem to know much of anything either. And I think despite Hermione making us study all summer, Harry and I probably don't know half as much as either of you."

This seemed to make Neville relax a little, and they chatted quietly as they moved to the next car. None of the compartments they checked held any toads, but they did get to meet some of their fellow first years, and a girl named Hannah Abbott joined them on their search. She was a half-blood, but she'd been raised by her witch mother, so she asked Dudley questions about Muggle life as they went.

He was trying to explain telephones and wasn't paying much attention to where he was walking until he bumped heavily into someone, who snapped, "Watch where you're going!" Dudley looked over in surprise and found himself looking at Draco Malfoy, who was being helped up by two boys who were even larger than Dudley.

"You must be Draco Malfoy," Dudley said without thinking, a surprised smile coming to his face. Neville and Hannah stared at him, and so did Draco, for a moment, before he composed himself.

"Finally," he sneered, "a Mudblood who knows his place. I'm looking for Harry Potter - I heard he's on the train. You will tell me where he is."

The words didn't register for a moment, but when they did, Dudley was shocked to the core. Was this really the same Draco Malfoy who'd defended his articles to the purebloods? But, no, of course not - this was Draco Malfoy as a child, and by all account, Draco had been as bad as Dudley for most of his youth. Dudley drew himself up to his full height. "Harry, my cousin, is back that way," he said, in his best unimpressed dad voice, "two cars down, third compartment on the right, and I'll thank you not to use that word in my presence."

Five pairs of eyes gawked at him as if they couldn't believe he was real, and after a long moment, Malfoy cracked. "Can you believe this?" he said to the hallway at large, laughing. "What in Merlin's name was _that_? Crabbe, make him move."

Dudley was shoved out of the way, and Malfoy strode past, still laughing. "You think he's under some kind of curse?" the blond asked his minions. "Surely no one's voice does that on its _own_!" Dudley watched the three stride purposefully down the hall, then sagged in defeat.

"That was _amazing_," Neville breathed.

"What was that voice, though?" Hannah asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Er, I dunno," Dudley said sheepishly, pushing off the wall. "I sort of just went with it. What did it sound like?"

"Kind of like you had a head cold," Neville admitted. "And like you had a trumpet stuck up your nose. I think."

"Well, it was pretty impressive, if a bit silly," she said, smiling, then linked arms with the both of them and led them down the hall.

Eventually, Neville's toad turned up in the hands of a Hufflepuff prefect who'd been trying to find the owner, and Dudley and Hannah followed Neville to his compartment to make sure he got there without losing Trevor again. Once the toad was safely put away, the three of them wandered back to Dudley's compartment. By the time they arrived, Draco Malfoy and his goons were long gone, and the others were happy to see them. Everyone budged up to make room, and when the lady with the trolley covered in candy and treats stopped by, they all pitched in for a large pile and shared amongst themselves.

Finally, Harry asked Ron something that he'd been wondering about for a while. "What do your older brothers do now they've left Hogwarts, anyway?"

"Well," said Ron around a mouthful of pumpkin pasty, "Charlie's in 'omania studying dragons, 'nd Bill's in Africa doing somethin' for Gringoffs." He swallowed with some effort, and continued. "Speaking of, did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_ - though I don't suppose you get that with Muggles. Someone tried to rob a high security vault back on the 31st of July!"

"I heard about that," Neville said. "My gran was talking to my uncle about it."

"What happened to them?" Harry asked, staring from one to the other.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news," Ron said in the most suspenseful voice he could manage, clearly pleased to have an audience. "They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry mulled over this, and Hermione scoffed. "How could he be behind anything?" she asked disdainfully. "He's _dead_. And anyway, we were there only two days later, and no one _seemed_ very worried."

Realizing that there was an argument in the near future, Harry said hastily, "Ron, can you tell me more about quidditch?"

The redhead brightened, and immediately launched into an explanation of tactics and teams. Hermione, rolling her eyes, got to her feet. "I'm going to ask the conductor how long we've got," she told Dudley and Neville, who were the only ones not listening to Ron, and left the compartment.

Ten minutes later, she returned, throwing the door open and exclaiming, breathless with excitement, "We're nearly there! We _need_ to get our robes on!"

And she ran to her trunk and began to dig through it. Hannah laughed and got to her feet. "Neville and I will be right back, then," she said brightly, pulling the startled boy to his feet. "C'mon Nev, your compartment isn't far from mine!"

Harry and Dudley followed Hermione's example, pulling the robes on over their clothes, and after some grumbling, Ron did the same. They settled back down, and Harry and Dudley fed their owls some treats. Harry had named his Hedwig, but Dudley still wasn't sure what his should be, and commented on it now. "Maybe I should just call her This One, since that's how you introduced us," he joked to Hermione, who laughed.

"That would be funny," she said, then grew thoughtful. "Maybe choose a name from one of your books? That's what Harry did, after all."

Dudley got up and dug through his own trunk for a while, considering the books he'd bought, before finally settling on the thin book of wizard fairytales that he'd bought on a whim. He thumbed through it to his favorite story, _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_, and after a moment, said, "Altheda." He leaned over to the owl and offered her another treat. "What do you think? D'you like that name?"

The owl fixed him with a stare that stated she didn't care one way or another, and delicately took the treat from his fingers.

* * *

Hannah and Neville never did make it back, but that was just as well, because they found each other again after they got off the train. They were milling about, shivering in the cool night air and wondering what to do, when a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a great booming voice called out, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

They made their way through the sea of students and found themselves facing an enormous, bearded man. He beamed at them, then got a closer look at Harry and nearly burst into tears. "Harry Potter!" he said, delighted. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby!" He turned to call for the first years again, then resumed conversation, sticking out an enormous hand for Harry to shake. With some hesitation, Harry did so. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." And he invited them all to come down to his hut for tea sometime.

Hagrid rounded up the remainder of the first years, then led them down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Dudley thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Someone squeezed Dudley's hand in excitement, taking him for someone else.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its window sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Dudley gaped at it in awe. Even in 2017, Hogwarts had yet to be restored to its full glory, and here it was, undamaged and beautiful, instead of the patchwork creature he'd seen before. He'd only been once or twice, and it was dark now, but even the atmosphere felt somehow different.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hannah and Neville opted to take a separate boat, and were joined by Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

The fleet of boats moved off at once, gliding across the calm, glassy lake with ease. Everyone was quiet, staring up at the castle overhead, but there was an excited whisper rippling across the boats. The castle loomed over them, windows twinkling merrily, as they drew nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They floated down a long, dark tunnel that seemed to take them right under the castle, making the trip in tense silence, until they reached an underground harbor and clambered gratefully out onto solid land. They made their way up a passage in the rock, following Hagrid's lamp until they emerged onto the smooth, damp grass right in front of the castle.

"Everyone here?" Hagrid called, then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. It swung open at once, revealing Minerva McGonagall. The tall, dark-haired witch wore emerald green robes and looked just as severe as always.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was bigger than the house at Privet Drive, and the ceiling was too high to make out. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, some of the first years daring to whisper amongst themselves. Dudley could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - he wasn't surprised that the rest of the school had already arrived - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer than they usually would have done and trampling a few toes in the process, and stared about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is very important because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Dudley watched in amusement as Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly," said Professor McGonagall, and exited the chamber.

"How do they sort us into Houses?" someone whispered, and at once, the room was full of frantic whispers.

"- a test, a quiz or something, must be -"

"- heard we have to fight a dragon -"

"I heard it was a _troll_ -"

Harry, Hermione, and Dudley all shared an amused look as their friends grew pale at these whispers. "Don't worry," Harry assured them. "When we met Professor McGonagall before, she told us it's just wearing a hat." Ron looked unconvinced, but some color returned to his face.

Then something happened that made everyone jump about a foot in the air - several even screamed. About twenty ghosts glided smoothly out of the back wall, conversing amongst themselves. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they floated gracefully across the room, hardly sparing a glance for the startled first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"

"My dear Friar, haaven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had noticed the first years that were gaping at him. Nobody was quite brave enough to answer his question.

"New students!" exclaimed the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," she told the first years, "and follow me." They all shuffled after her, and there were gasps of awe as they finally entered the Great Hall.

It was lit by thousands upon thousands of large candles of every color that hovered in the air over the four long tables where the other students sat. The tables themselves were laid with glittering golden dishes atop colored tablecloths - each color representing a different House, it seemed - and at the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up to the head table, so that they came to a halt facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shimmered gently. Harry nervously gave Dudley's hand a squeeze, to his surprise. He glanced at his cousin, then up at the ceiling, and had to swallow a gasp. It was velvety black, dotted with stars, and Hermione whispered from his left, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read it in _Hogwarts: a History_." At that, he had to smother a grin, because she had picked on him and Harry both for not picking up a copy of it.

Still, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens - though he imagined it would be a different story if it started raining. He looked down again in time to see McGonagall place a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of it she put a pointed wizard's hat. It was patched and ragged and extremely dirty, and everyone in the hall was now staring at it. The hat twitched, surprising Dudley, before a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing:

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap! _

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished. It bowed to each table, then became quite still again.

"You were right," Dudley heard Ron whisper to Harry, voice heavy with relief. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Hannah stumbled out of line, then hurried to the stool, her blonde pigtails flying behind her. She sat on the stool and nearly squished the hat as she put it on her head. It slipped down over her eyes, and after a moment's pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah removed the hat and went to sit down. Dudley and the others cheered too, and she waved at them from the table.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The second table from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Dudley and Harry could see the Weasley twins cat-calling. "Bulstrode, Millicent" became the first Slytherin, and then, quite suddenly, it was Dudley's turn. He walked to the stool with legs that felt like lead, and as the hat slipped down over his eyes, he found his view of the hall obstructed.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear, and it took all his willpower not to jump in surprise. "I've seen a few time travelers in my day, but never like you. And you were a Muggle before? Interesting."

Heart in his throat, Dudley thought, _I don't suppose you know a specialist?_

The hat chuckled. "Not as such, but you should speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. He may know something. And now - where to put you? Not particularly brave or clever, nor hard-working or cunning. But - yes, there's loyalty, and stubbornness, so it has to be HUFFLEPUFF!"

The last was shouted to the hall, and as he removed the hat, Dudley realized that Hannah was jumping up and down in her excitement. He grinned and stumbled down to the Hufflepuff table to collapse beside her. "Congratulations," she said excitedly, and he murmured indistinctly before turning to watch the rest of the sorting.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin" became a Hufflepuff next, and then it was Hermione's turn, and she put the hat on with a look of desperate determination.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat almost immediately, and Dudley cheered as she nearly ran to the table, face bright with excitement.

Very shortly after, it was Neville's turn. The hat took a long time to decide, hemming and hawwing for ages, before finally shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!" Neville took off still wearing it, and had to jog back to return the hat to Professor McGonagall. Upon reaching the table, he collapsed gratefully beside Dudley.

"I thought it'd never decide, and I'd have to leave school," he confessed, face still bright red with embarrassment.

"Now you're stuck with us," Dudley said, smiling at him.

"Malfoy, Draco," was sorted into Slytherin almost before the hat had even touched his head, and he went with a look of smug superiority on his pointed little face.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"... "Nott"... "Parkinson"... and then Dudley got a rude shock when "Patil, Padma" was called. He watched in amazement as a much-younger version of his wife - former wife? - was sorted into Ravenclaw. He forced himself to stop staring as she walked to her table, and watched quietly as her sister was sorted into Gryffindor. He'd known, of course, that Padma had gone to Hogwarts, and had been in the same year as Harry, even, but somehow he'd never realized that she would be his schoolmate. Dudley was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the hall had gone silent 'til Hannah elbowed him to pay attention, and he looked up to see Harry nervously approaching the stool.

Dudley had the distinct feeling, as they waited for the hat's decision, that Harry and the hat were having a discussion. He hadn't been paying attention to most of the other Sortings, and Neville, though his had been the longest, had seemed more as if he were waiting than talking. At last, though, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and Harry took it off to absolutely thunderous applause. He scurried to the Gryffindor table looking extremely relieved, and sat beside Hermione. Dean Thomas shortly joined the Gryffindor table, Lisa Turpin became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale and slightly green by now, and he scrunched his eyes closed before putting on the hat. A heartbeat later, it sorted him into Gryffindor, and he was grinning broadly as he hurried to sit down. Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin after that, and the Sorting was finished. Professor McGonagall rolled the parchment up and took the stool and hat away.

The Headmaster got to his feet, then, and beamed at the students, opening his arms wide as if to embrace them. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down amidst enthusiastic applause and cheering. Dudley wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" he asked aloud.

"He's a genius," one of the older Hufflepuffs said, "but he is a bit mad. Potatoes?"

Dudley looked at the table in amazement, because the dishes in front of him were now piled with food - roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some reason, peppermint humbugs. He hadn't eaten anything this good in a long time, and he happily put a little of everything on his plate. On either side of him, Hannah and Neville were eagerly doing the same.

The older boy across the table smiled, then said, "I'm Cedric Diggory. If you need help with anything, let me know, okay?" This was directed at all the new students, who all nodded in response, mouths already stuffed with food.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaveing them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam donuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Dudley helped himself to a slice of pie and a generous scoop of ice cream, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," Hannah said cheerfully. "My dad was a Muggle, died when I was little. My mum raised me all on her own, you know."

"I'm all-magical, and I was raised by my gran," Neville mused, "but the family thought I was a squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened til I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

Dudley felt sick, and barely heard Justin's story, too busy mulling over the fact that no one seemed bothered by the idea of Great Uncle Algie tormenting Neville until he showed signs of being magical. Was that normal for wizarding families?

"What about you, Dudley?" Cedric asked, all smiles.

"Er, well, Harry came to live with us as a baby," he began, "and my parents are Muggles, and they don't approve of magic, so they didn't tell us about it, and got upset whenever Harry showed signs of magic. We all thought I was a Muggle til the letters came."

"Hold on - Harry? Not Harry _Potter_," Justin said skeptically, but Hannah was already nodding.

"It's true," she said between bites of treacle. "We met on the train, and Harry confirmed it."

Almost immediately, Dudley was pelted with questions. What was it like, living with someone famous? What was his favorite food? Does he snore? What's his favorite color? Can you introduce us? It got to the point where the prefects had to calm everyone down, and conversation slowly turned to other things.

At last, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again, silencing the hall.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you," he said. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins, who wore expressions of utmost innocence.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few students laughed, Hannah giggling nervously in Dudley's ear, but the hall was otherwise silent.

"Is he serious?" Dudley muttered to Cedric, who nodded, frowning.

"Usually he gives us a reason, but I think he must be," he whispered back.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Dudley noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he were trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, rising high above the tables and twisting itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald,_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling,_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room turned out to be in the kitchen corridor, and the prefects had the first years gather around a stack of barrels in a circle so everyone could see what was done. There was no password, but a very specific barrel had to be tapped with a specific rhythm to enter. Once the prefects were satisfied that everyone knew what to do, everyone filed into the common room. The ceiling was low, the room large and cozy, and the circular windows near the ceiling looked out, as far as anyone could tell, onto a grassy field. There were lots of yellow hangings and overstuffed armchairs, and plants of all kinds perched on windowsills or hung from the ceiling.

Hannah said a quick, half-yawned goodnight to Neville and Dudley as the boys and girls were led through circular doors to their dorms, and they waved back to her. The dorms themselves were just as cosy as the common room, thick patchwork quilts covering the four-poster beds and copper bed warmers hanging from the beds in case of cold feet. Dudley and Neville discovered that they shared a room with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan, and that their things were already waiting by their beds. Too tired to talk much, they changed into their pajamas and fell into bed. Neville mumbled something indistinct and fell asleep almost immediately.

Dudley folded his arms under his head and stared up into the darkness. He knew that he had a lot to process, and he also found his heart pounding in excitement at the thought of the next day, but his mind was blank in the way that only profound tiredness could clear it. Nevertheless, he felt sure he wouldn't be able to sleep, and so fell asleep within moments of thinking it.

* * *

Notes

* * *

Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out the mistakes in this chapter! They have been fixed.


	5. Settling In

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Dudley was the first awake the next morning. Though he was still tired and still not entirely conscious, he found it impossible to go back to sleep, and after a few minutes of tossing and turning, finally gave up and slipped out of bed. The floor was cool under his feet, but not uncomfortably so, and he yawned widely as he changed out of his pajamas, noting absently that there was a fifth bed in the room that he hadn't seen the night before, and the boy sleeping in it was - he strained his memory - _something_ Smith. Shrugging, he decided not to bother brushing his hair, and staggered out of the dorms rubbing sleep from his eyes. Once out, he paused to take in the empty common room. The sunlight filtering through the windows was faint, like the sun had only just begun to rise, but already the golds and coppers in the room were beginning to glow in it. There was no fire in the hearth at the moment, and he looked curiously at the mantlepiece - all badgers, everywhere - before continuing on his way.

He found his way to the Great Hall with suspicious ease, and he wondered if there wasn't a spell to keep students from getting lost. As he pushed open the doors, the quiet buzz of his fellow early risers filled his ears. There weren't many students already up, and most of them were Ravenclaws, but there were a few from the other houses mixed in. At the Gryffindor table, there was only Harry, and he looked a little relieved when he noticed Dudley approaching.

"Mornin'," Dudley yawned as he approached. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a rock," Harry admitted, then said in a quiet voice, "I feel like everyone's been staring at me since I got in here."

Dudley glanced around the room, and was unsurprised to see that Harry wasn't wrong. He stared pointedly back at a few of the offenders, and they quickly looked away. "Can't be helped, I guess," he said slowly. "I think after today it should let up, though."

"I hope you're right," Harry said fervently.

With a look up to the high table, wanting to make sure he wouldn't get in trouble, Dudley sat down at the Gryffindor table beside his cousin. Dumbledore, the only teacher present, blissfully continued slathering a piece of toast with jam. "Mind if I eat breakfast with you? I can at least make faces at people and scare them off," he said, and his cousin cracked a grin.

"Sure," Harry said, and slid the sausages over to him.

They ate in a comfortable silence until Hermione showed up, and after greeting them enthusiastically, she immediately lost herself in a book, nibbling absently at a bagel. Neville and Hannah were the next to appear, and sat at the Gryffindor table with the rest of them without hesitation. As Hannah hugged him good morning, Dudley found himself catching the eye of the Headmaster. The man's eyes twinkled merrily, clearly not seeing a problem with their actions.

Eventually, though, as the Great Hall began to fill, Cedric came over and fetched the stray Hufflepuffs. "You'll need to be at the table so you can get your schedule," he said apologetically, and greeted Harry politely before returning to the Hufflepuff table. Dudley, Hannah, and Neville got up, groaning, and followed him. When they arrived, the empty plates they sat in front of immediately filled with the food they'd just been eating, to their amazement, and breakfast continued. Once nearly every Hufflepuff was at the table, a short, plump witch with a cheery smile on her face approached. "Good morning!" she said brightly. "My name is Professor Sprout, and I'm your head of House. I have your schedules ready, so please raise your hand when I call your name." And she went down the list, levitating a piece of paper to each student. Dudley looked over his schedule with interest, and when he compared with the other first years, found that they had the exact same classes. He was itching to compare with the Gryffindors, and waited impatiently as Professor Sprout gave them a quick rundown of school rules, along with the assurance that if any of them ever needed her, she could be found in her office in one of the greenhouses. Finally, she returned to the high table, and he waited until Professor McGonagall was finished with the Gryffindors before he went over to compare.

"It looks like we have five classes together," Hermione said after examining both schedules. "Xylomancy on Monday, Herbology on Tuesday, Charms on Wednesday, Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday, and Potions on Friday. I wonder if we have to share five classes with each House." No one relished the idea of having one class with the Slytherins, let alone five.

Since it was Monday, that meant that Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had Xylomancy together first thing, so they went to their separate dorms to pick up their school bags and met up again outside the Great Hall. The class was in room 104 in the North Tower, and thanks to Hermione - and the spell that Dudley suspected was in place - they found their way with no trouble at all. Professor Nespola, a stern witch with long gray hair and dusty brown robes, had them all sit at round tables with a pile of twigs in the middle, and droned on about the history of divining with twigs for what seemed like half an eternity. A few students even fell asleep, and when everyone staggered out at the end, the only one who had any idea what the class was about was Hermione. She was quiet as the Gryffindors went to Potions class, not even saying goodbye to the Hufflepuffs in her distraction.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, which the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws shared, was one class that everyone was looking forward to, but Professor Quirrell, a nervous, stammering young man, didn't do anything more interesting than read from the book and have them take notes. The whole classroom stank almost violently of garlic, and Dudley, who spent most of the class trying not to stare at Padma, emerged from it nursing the beginnings of a blistering headache.

After lunch was Potions, and Dudley went into it with aching temples and much-lowered expectations. He and Hannah sat together at the end of one table, and Neville sat at the other end with a Ravenclaw named Mandy Brocklehurst who looked like she wanted to cry. The dungeons, at least, helped Dudley's headache a little, because they were significantly cooler than the rest of the castle. His hopes for the class lifted a little when the Potions Master, Professor Snape, glided silkily into the room and began to take roll. He paused, momentarily, when he came to Dudley's name, but continued as if nothing had happened, and when he finished roll, he set the parchment down and cast a gimlet eye over the lot of them.

"You are here," he began, voice barely more than a whisper, though everyone heard him as clearly as if he'd shouted, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

It was a practiced speech, and Dudley suspected he'd already said it once today and would continue to throughout the week, but he found himself captivated. The images the words conjured in his mind were intriguing. Almost as if he'd sensed Dudley's thoughts, Professor Snape turned sharply towards him. "Mr. Dursley," he said, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Dudley blanked for a moment, then took a deep breath. "A sleeping potion, sir," he said after a long moment. "The... Draught of Living Death."

Snape, who'd been ready to ask another student, turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Correct," he said coolly. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

He said it carefully, and Dudley wondered if he'd asked someone else these exact same questions earlier in the day. "The stomach of a goat, sir."

"And what is the difference, Dursley, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Without thinking, Dudley blurted, "The spelling, sir." Immediately, he grimaced. What the hell was he thinking?

A few people tittered nervously, and Snape raised his eyes to the heavens. "Technically correct." he drawled, and continued, speaking to the rest of the class, "Monkshood and wolfbane are, indeed, the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. A bezoar is a stone which will cure you of most poisons. Well? Why aren't you copying this down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "A single point to Hufflepuff, Dursley, for deigning to open a book. Try to refrain from making such inane comments in the future."

After that, he split everyone into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He stalked the room, criticizing nearly everyone, and was just scolding Terry Boot for stewing his slugs incorrectly when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon, followed by a shrill scream. Neville had somehow managed to melt Mandy's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. Mandy burst into violent tears and ran from the room as Snape stalked towards their work station. "Idiot boy," he snarled, clearing the spilled potion with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Dursley!" the professor snapped, "Take him to the hospital wing, and come back immediately. And if you see Miss Brocklehurst, tell her she has detention Saturday for leaving the class without permission."

Dudley climbed off his stool and picked up Neville's bag, then carefully led him out of the classroom. As the door closed behind them, they heard Snape ordering their classmates to get back to work. They made the trip without words, the silence broken only by the occasional pained sniffle from Neville.

"I knew it," he mumbled at last. "I'm no good at this."

"It sounds like an easy mistake to make," Dudley said, gingerly patting Neville's shoulder. "He makes you nervous, too, doesn't he?"

Neville shuddered. "He _terrifies_ me."

They reached the hospital wing, and Madame Pomfrey tsked over the state Neville was in and said he should be recovered in time for dinner, but not before that, so Dudley waved goodbye to the unfortunate boy and returned to class. He saw no sign of Mandy Brocklehurst.

* * *

On Friday morning, Harry received a letter from Hagrid, asking if he wanted to come visit after classes, so he asked the rest of them if they wanted to come, and everyone did. At five to three the six of them journeyed down to the giant's hut, which was near the forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door when they arrived.

When Hagrid let them in, beaming, he was struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound that tried desperately to lick their faces. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, letting go of the dog's collar. The dog, whose name was Fang, bounded straight at Ron and began licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was not quite as fierce as he looked.

"So, er, these are my friends," Harry said, and introduced them all. Hagrid looked pleased as punch that Harry already had so many, though he squinted uncertainly at Dudley. "How do you know me, Mr. Hagrid? You said you saw me as a baby!"

Hagrid settled down on an enormous armchair, and the kids sat on whatever they could find. "Jus' call me Hagrid," he said warmly. "As for how I know yeh, well, I was the one who took yer from the ruins of yer house, on Dumbledore's orders, and took yeh to live with yer cousin there." He nodded at Dudley. "Borrowed Sirius Black's flying motorcycle fer it."

Harry's eyes went huge. "But I remember that!" he blurted excitedly. "I had dreams about it!"

Hagrid didn't have much else to tell, but he did share some of the adventures that Harry's parents had got into during Hogwarts. After that, the subject changed to their classes. The general consensus was that everything was okay, if hard, but that potions with Snape was the worst. Dudley privately disagreed, but by now he'd heard about Harry's first potions class and wasn't going to push it. The boy was definitely excited for flying class the next Thursday, though, and his enthusiasm was catching.

Much of Dudley's free time was divided between homework and the little class Professor Sprout taught her Hufflepuffs about the Wizarding World. This was one class that was, unfortunately, split by House, so though Hermione and Harry were in it too, they were taught by Professor McGonagall. They often compared notes, though, and their penmanship, which was part of the class, improved quickly.

It had, however, become frustratingly clear that Dudley had only the smallest scrapings of magic. In Charms he was incapable of making the tip of his wand spark, let alone glow, and even Professor McGonagall wasn't sure what to make of his complete lack of progress in transfiguring a match into a needle. In fact, the only classes he didn't seem to be completely terrible at were History of Magic, Magical Theory, and Potions, none of which actually relied on his magical ability, and even Potions was a struggle. Snape never failed to find things wrong with his work, though at least he was just as unpleasant to everyone else.

Even so, Dudley had to admit it was much better than Smeltings had ever been.

Harry's enthusiasm for flying class lasted only until the day of, when he learned they'd be having the class with the Slytherins. He poked dejectedly at his eggs as Ron tried to cheer him up and Neville fussed over his new Remembrall. The Hufflepuffs didn't have flying til the next day, and while Dudley and Neville were both nervous about it, they weren't too worried yet - unlike Hermione, who was rereading _Quidditch Through the Ages_ for the fifth time in desperate hope of some advice for staying on a broom. At one point, Malfoy, passing their table, made a grab for the Remembrall, but he caught the eye of Professor McGonagall, who stared at him so fiercely that he changed course and pocketed a roll instead.

When the Remembrall went missing halfway through the Magical Theory class they had with the Slytherins, Dudley suspected Malfoy was behind it, and quietly plotted with Neville during lunch.

In the end, however, they didn't get to put their plan into action. During dinner that night, Harry rushed over to the Hufflepuff table, breathless with excitement, and handed the Remembrall to Neville as he sat down. "You'll never believe it," he said, and launched into the story. One of the Gryffindors had hurt themselves during the lesson and had to be taken to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch, so Malfoy had started being a prat. When Harry had got involved, Malfoy took the Remembrall out of his pocket and taunted him with it, before mounting his broom and taking off. Harry, in a fit of anger, had followed, and had caught the Remembrall out of thin air.

By this time, half the table was listening. "So what happened after that?" Hannah asked, riveted. Dudley, who was biting his tongue to keep from scolding Harry for doing something so _stupid_, figured it couldn't have been too bad, given how happy his cousin was.

"Well, Professor McGonagall showed up, and I thought I was done for," Harry admitted. "She looked so furious at first. But -" He lowered his voice, beckoning them closer. "- she put me on the quidditch team instead of expelling me! I'm now the youngest Gryffindor seeker in a century! Er, but keep it a secret, okay?"

Hannah, Neville, and Dudley hastened to assure him they'd keep quiet, then smothered him in congratulations, making him blush almost as red as Ron's hair, but he looked pleased. At that moment, Professor McGonagall came round on her way to her own seat and gently rapped him on the head. "Please return to your seat, Mr. Potter," she said, but she was fighting a smile, and Harry quickly said goodbye before scurrying off. Malfoy glowered at all of them from the Slytherin table, but with McGonagall roaming, didn't dare get up yet. When he deemed it safe, he went to the Gryffindor table with his goons and had a quiet conversation with Harry, who held his own until Malfoy left, at which point he looked at Ron helplessly.

And so it was that as he left the hall, Dudley was cornered by Harry and Ron. "Harry's going to duel Malfoy tonight, at midnight," Ron explained as quietly as he could. "Hermione doesn't want to help us, and you've been reading nearly as much as her, so will you come?"

Dudley looked at them incredulously. "You're going to risk that much trouble for Malfoy?" he asked dubiously. They nodded firmly, and as he opened his mouth to either lecture or talk them out of it - he wasn't sure which - he caught himself thinking, _Well, why not?_ He knew from experience that they were going to do this regardless of anything he said or did. Some part of his mind continued to protest, insisting it was too dangerous, but it faded a moment later, replaced entirely by a sudden enthusiasm for the idea. "Fine, but if it gets out of hand, I'm going to hex all of you and leave you for Filch," he warned them, knowing full well that none of them knew he wouldn't be able to follow through. This was deemed reasonable, and it was decided that they would meet by the trophy room, where the duel was to take place. If nothing else, he reasoned, he could keep Harry and Malfoy from killing each other. Probably.

* * *

That night, making the trip to the trophy room alone, Dudley felt like he'd made a huge mistake. As he hurried through corridors and up stairs, he half expected Filch or Mrs. Norris to come slinking out of the shadows, but they never did. Even so, when he met up with the others, each group had to struggle not to scream in alarm. As their heartbeats returned to normal, Dudley frowned at his friends. "Hermione, why are you here?" he asked in a whisper, and she scowled at him.

"I got locked out of the tower while I was trying to keep _them_ from coming," she whispered back.

The four of them slipped into the trophy room and stuck close to the wall as they looked around. Malfoy wasn't there yet, so they relaxed a little. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness, almost seeming to mock them as the minutes crawled past.

"He's late," Ron whispered eventually. "Maybe he's chickened out."

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Dudley saw Harry raise his wand, but then a voice spoke, and it wasn't Malfoy - it was Filch.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

They bolted, quietly as they could, and Dudley had barely turned the corner when Filch entered the trophy room. "They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter as he shuffled around. "Probably hiding."

Hermione grabbed them and led them quietly down the hall, until Ron tripped over a suit of armor and sent the whole thing crashing to the floor. "_Run!_" Hermione hissed, and they took off, Harry, the smallest and fastest, blindly leading them down corridors and hallways until, finally, they emerged near the Charms classroom. It was far enough from the trophy room that they figured it was safe enough to rest, and Dudley leaned tiredly against the wall, panting.

"I - _told_ - you!" Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. She swallowed hard, face pale.

"We need to get back to our dorms," Ron said, "quickly as possible."

Ignoring him, Hermione rounded on Harry. "Malfoy tricked you," she said. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy _must_ have tipped him off."

Harry looked sheepish, but said, "C'mon, let's go."

Except they only managed a few steps when a doorknob rattled and Peeves came rocketing out of a classroom in front of them. Dudley, who had yet to encounter Peeves but had heard all about him, couldn't help groaning as the poltergeist gave a squeal of delight upon seeing them.

"Shut up, Peeves - please - you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way!" Ron snapped, taking a swipe at the poltergeist even as Harry and Hermione tried to stop him.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for it, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.

"This is it," Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at it. "We're done for! This is the end!"

"Oh, shut _up_, Ronald," Hermione snarled, elbowing him out of the way. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "_Alohamora!_"

The lock clicked, and the door had barely opened before they were piling through and shutting it again. They pressed their ears to it, trying to listen over the sound of their pounding hearts.

Filch's footsteps entered the corridor, then slowed, and he said, "Which way did they go, Peeves? Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please'."

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now _where did they go?_"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves sang cheerfully.

"All right - _please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please!" And Peeves cackled as he whooshed away, Filch cursing in rage.

Dudley slumped against the door, then turned to look at their surroundings and froze. They weren't in a room, as he'd thought - they were in a corridor. Worse, they weren't alone. "The forbidden corridor," he breathed.

"What?" Hermione whispered, then turned and saw for herself. Her jaw dropped, and she tugged on Harry's sleeve.

There was a long, terrible moment where the four of them stared silently into the eyes of the giant, three-headed dog. It filled the entire space between floor and ceiling, saliva dripping from all three mouths, and the only reason it wasn't attacking was because it was just as surprised as they were. It was quickly recovering, though, and began to growl. There was a mad rush for the doorknob, and four different hands wrenched it open. They tumbled through the door, and someone had the presence of mind to kick it shut before they all bolted.

They stopped in a dark alcove near the stairs to catch their breath. "What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron whispered indignantly once he could breathe. "If any dog needs exercise, _that_ one does."

Hermione, whose temper had returned with her breath, hissed, "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggested a little breathlessly. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." She straightened up, dusting off her pink bathrobe. "Now let's get back to our common rooms before you come up with any other idiot ideas that could get us killed - or worse, expelled." With that, she set off into the night, and the boys hastily said their goodbyes before Ron and Harry followed her.

On his way back, Dudley very narrowly avoided running into Filch again, but he made it safely to the kitchen corridor and tapped the barrels with a shaking hand, almost falling to his knees in relief when they opened. He stumbled through into the common room, then crept into the dorm and shucked his bathrobe, which he'd thrown on over his pajamas, and toed off his shoes before collapsing into bed.

As his heartbeat slowly returned to normal and he slowly stopped shaking, Dudley frowned. He couldn't imagine why a giant dog would need to guard _anything_ inside a school, and now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure why it would be behind such an easily opened door.

He was still mulling it over at breakfast the next morning, and due to tiredness and distraction, would have put his elbow in the butter if Hannah hadn't pulled it away in time. He did, however, grin at the look of absolute shock on Malfoy's face when Ron and Harry waltzed into the Great Hall. They waved Dudley over, and he wandered down to the Gryffindor table to see what was up.

"Hermione has a theory," Harry whispered as soon as he joined them. "She thinks this is linked to the robbery at Gringotts, you know, where they didn't manage to take anything."

Dudley looked at the girl with his eyebrows raised. "How'd you make that jump?" he asked, but before she could answer, the mail arrived, and everyone's attention was caught by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. They were all amazed when the birds swooped down and dropped it on the table right in front of Harry, knocking his bacon to the floor. They'd barely flown away when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Ron and Dudley crowded round as Harry opened the letter first, and discovered that it was lucky he had.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't

want everyone knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll

all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the

Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

It was signed by Professor McGonagall, and Harry was hiding his glee as he handed the note to Hermione, who read it with a look of intense disapproval.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even _touched_ one."

He and Harry left to open the parcel in the privacy of the Gryffindor dorms, with promises that Dudley would get to see it later. He turned back to his plate and found Altheda sitting patiently, an ordinary white envelope resting on top of his goblet. He realized it was from his mother, and opened it slowly, wondering what kind of news would be inside. Hermione, noting his sudden seriousness, watched with worried brows.

The letter was full of babbling, as if Petunia was afraid to talk about what was really on her mind, but towards the bottom she finally admitted to what Dudley had suspected for a while; that she and Vernon were getting divorced, and that she'd found a job and a new flat for them to live in. She said that he and Harry could come to the flat over Christmas break if they wanted, but that it might be more comfortable for them to stay at Hogwarts. He read all this without much feeling, then offered it to Hermione, who hesitated before taking it and reading it in that absurdly quick way of hers.

After a moment, she folded it and handed it back, saying, "Are you okay?"

Dudley put the letter back in its envelope and tucked it into his schoolbag, considering the question. "Yeah," he decided. "I saw it coming. It's kind of a relief, honestly. I'll reply to her later, let her know we're okay." He hesitated, then said ruefully, "I've been so caught up in all this magic stuff that I did kind of forget it was a big change for her, too." Which was an understatement, if he was being truthful. What he really kept forgetting was that this was all real, and when he did remember, he settled into the mindset of focusing on getting only from point A to point B every day. _At some point,_ he promised himself, _I'll sit down and sort through everything properly. I just don't have the time right now._

Hermione reached across the table and gave his hand a sympathetic pat, as if she didn't quite know what to say, and they were silent for the remainder of breakfast.


	6. Fall

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Dudley watched nervously as Snape inspected the contents of his cauldron. It was the first time he'd let them make a potion on their own instead of in pairs, and he was hoping he hadn't screwed it up too badly. It was a base potion, one that could be turned into a variety of more complex ones.

"Dursley," Snape said, "you added a teaspoon of ground goosegrass and an extra slice of eel's eye. What was your reason for this?"

"I read about it in my free time, sir," Dudley said. "In a potions magazine from a few years ago."

Snape withdrew from the potion and spelled it into the phial waiting near the cauldron. "See me after class," he said, then returned Dudley's graded essay and the potion's grading paper to him. He was surprised to find that while the essay had miraculously gotten an E, the potion had been given a D, so he'd similtaneously received both the highest and lowest grades he'd ever got from Snape. He tucked it into his bag so he could show Neville later, wondering what the Potions master wanted to talk to him about.

He packed his things as the other students filtered out of the Potions class, waving to Hannah and Neville, who looked concerned. Setting his bag on a nearby chair, Dudley looked to Snape and waited.

The other man - who, he realized with some shock, was probably about the same age as him - folded his arms and stared down his nose at Dudley. "Mr. Dursley," he said, voice no different than it always was, "do you understand why you were given a D?"

Caught off guard, Dudley frowned. "Er," he said, and was immediately interrupted.

"So far, you are one of very few students who have done indepedent research," Snape said. "However, unlike the others, you were bold enough to put it into practice, knowing you risked a failing grade. In fact, you also risked your health. One wrong measurement of the excess ingredients and the fumes alone would have put you in hospital for a month."

Dudley had not thought about any of this at the time, and made a serious effort not to let that show on his face. Judging by the way Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose, he wasn't quite succeeding.

"It's clear," he said at last, "judging by both your essays and your actions, that your interest in potion-making goes beyond simply copying recipes. As you are not, _usually_, a complete buffoon, I am going to encourage this. However, next time you get it into your head to add a little something extra to your potion _while surrounded by other people_, I expect you to give it a little more thought."

"Yes, sir."

Snape stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure something out. "You're dismissed. But for putting yourself and others in danger without even thinking about what you were doing, I'm going to remove five points from Hufflepuff, and I expect an essay on the origins of potion-making on my desk by next Monday." And he returned to his desk.

Dudley let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, then gathered his things and fled the room. Hannah and Neville were waiting for him outside, and the three of them hurried to History of Magic, making it just in time, not that Professor Binns noticed. They claimed the only free corner in the room and passed notes, the other two wanting to know what was going on. He explained as best he could, accepting their congratulations on the E and their sympathy for the D.

"I'm not even sure why I got the E at all," he confessed later, after relating the tale at the Gryffindor table during lunch. "I didn't think it was all that good."

"May I see it?" Hermione asked, and, when he handed the essay over, immediately began to read, completely neglecting her soup. As she read, he turned to the others and listened absently as Hannah and Ron got into it again over quidditch teams.

Lately, he hadn't seen much of his Gryffindor friends, because he kept staying up late working on homework and reading and waking up just as breakfast was ending, and during the other meals he was either still working or trying not to fall asleep. He had, of course, found the time to deliver the news about Petunia to Harry, who'd been cautiously cheerful about it and didn't mind the idea of spending Christmas at Hogwarts. After that, they'd barely seen each other. Dudley saw Malfoy more than he did his friends, and the blond's favorite thing to do was mimic the voice Dudley had used on him when they were on the train. Dudley, for his part, reined in his temper - which flared a little every time he saw Malfoy, mostly because he kept hearing through the grapevine about what a shit he was being to Harry - and ignored him. It was the safest option he could think of, and he knew it was going to have to change soon, because it was getting harder and harder not to respond just as childishly.

Hermione prodded his elbow to get his attention, and he looked back at her, surprised that she had already finished - except that she wasn't, really. Her eyes were still glued to the parchment, and there was a little furrow on her brow. "Dudley," she said, "are you sure you wrote this?"

Dudley stared blankly. "Err, yes?" he offered. "I mean, I know it isn't great-"

"No, no, that's not it, it's quite good," she assured him, almost absently. "Only, if you ignore the handwriting, it reads like it was written by an adult. And - gosh. I didn't even realize that eel skins could _have_ properties like that. Where did you learn to write like this?" She looked up at him, frowning.

"Er," said Dudley, wanting to kick himself. He hadn't even thought that his writing style wouldn't match his appearance. _How d'you explain this one, Dud?_ he thought sourly. _Oh, it's nothing Hermione, it's just I used to write for sports magazines._ A memory forced its way to the surface, and he blurted, "My friend - former friend - his dad's a journalist. He used to lecture us when we'd get bad grades on essays." Which was true enough, though Piers' dad had usually been on his fourth beer by that time. "It sort of - inspired me. Er. And I think potions are interesting." he shrugged helplessly and fell silent, picking at the tablecloth.

Fortunately, she seemed to take his awkwardness for embarrassment, and patted his hand. "Well, it's worth the E," she said kindly, "though your spelling is a little unfortunate. Are you still having trouble with quills?" He nodded, relieved at the change of subject. She and, to a lesser degree, Harry, had taken to quills with ease, thanks to the classes. Dudley, on the other hand, was sorely missing his laptop.

The only other class that day was Flying, and Dudley trudged down to the field with Neville in companionable resignation as Hannah skipped ahead, chattering excitedly with Susan Bones, who was notably less enthused. Dudley and Neville seemed to share a problem with flying that, despite Malfoy's theories to the contrary, had nothing to do with their weight. Instead, they both seemed to have a complete lack of coordination in the air, for different reasons. Neville's was a near-constant anxiety, and Dudley's, well. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was an inner ear issue, but he'd actually checked with Madame Pomfrey, and it really only happened when he was flying.

Madame Hooch eyed the two of them with her usual mix of determination and irritation, then directed the class in a few simple warm-ups before turning them loose on a simple obstacle course to work on their steering. Dudley followed Neville into the course, not even bothering to focus on what he was doing, because the more he focused, the worse flying got. As he ducked under a low-hanging line of floating, half-rotten pumpkins, he found himself unwillingly remembering his time at Smeltings.

Dudley hadn't thought of the place in years, but ever since starting at Hogwarts, it had become nearly impossible to keep from comparing the two. Lately, however, the memories had begun to intrude on his everyday life, nonsensical episodes that would have him turning and speaking to empty air for a full minute before realizing he was alone in the corridor, or saying something inane in the middle of a conversation. Several times, he'd found himself accidentally walking into a wall as his feet attempted to follow a path that existed in Smeltings but not in Hogwarts, and, to his growing discomfort, Dudley occasionally found himself so immersed in the memory that he even acted like he was a snotty little brat again. He honestly didn't know what to make of it.

He watched as Neville completed the course, wobbling only a little, before turning his attention back to his broom. Instead of focusing on flying, he stared down at his hands gripping the broom as if from a great height. As he watched, detached, the broomstick turned into a familiar walking stick, and on the floor below was a whimpering boy.

"Come on, Dud," a voice called, "hit him!"

"Teach him to respect his betters," another laughed.

The boy on the ground looked up at him pleadingly, a bruise already forming on his cheek, and Dudley heard himself laugh. He watched in horror, unable to look away, as he raised the stick and hit the boy over and over, his peers laughing and jeering as his victim burst into tears. He'd completely forgotten about this, but then, it wasn't the first to happen during his former school years, and it wasn't the last. Then, over the noise, someone cried out in alarm, and the stick was pulled from Dudley's hands. He turned to face the thief, and saw with some relief that it was an older boy. Behind him were several others, and one went to check on the boy Dudley had been beating.

"That's my little brother," the thief said mildly, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye that Dudley knew he hadn't seen as an eleven year old. He felt himself sneer.

"Then teach the little freak some manners," he snapped. The older boy considered him a moment, then lashed out with the stick, catching him in the jaw. In a heartbeat, the rest of the boys were on him, and though he kicked and bit, there was little he could do. Distantly, Dudley felt the pain and fear that his younger self had, and his temper flared.

_Good,_ he thought viciously at himself. _Get a taste of your own medicine._

A Smeltings stick cracked across his face, catching him off guard even though he knew it was coming, and Dudley awoke with a pained gasp, accidentally inhaling a mouthful of bloody grass. He lay panting, bewildered, and felt a faint tingle as a spell was cast over him. "Nothing serious," Hooch murmured, sounding relieved, and then she carefully rolled him onto his side. "Easy, Dursley. Can you hear me all right?"

Blinking in the sunlight, he nodded, then winced as the movement prompted a sharp pain in his nose. He lifted a hand and gingerly inspected the damage, and sure enough, it was broken - just like it had been in the memory. He frowned, a suspicion creeping into his mind - hadn't that incident taken place around the same time of year? Before he could examine the thought further, Hooch cast a spell that stopped his nose bleeding, then eased him up and began to lead him away, and so he had to focus on walking. His anger at himself slowly bled away, leaving him with wobbly legs and a steadily growing headache.

"What happened?" he finally thought to ask as they climbed the castle steps.

"I should be asking you," Hooch said dryly. "You froze up near the end of the course, then started convulsing and fell off your broom - which is now somewhere in the Forest, I suspect. I don't suppose you have any memory of this?"

"No," Dudley said, resisting the urge to touch his nose. "It might've been a panic attack?"

She hummed in what might have been agreement, and marched him briskly along, a guiding hand on his shoulder. As they turned a corner, they came across an old man that Dudley belatedly identified as the Headmaster engaged in a quiet chat with a painting. He gingerly shook his head, wondering if he hadn't hit it too hard after all. As they approached, Dumbledore turned to them with a smile, eyes twinkling. "Good afternoon, Madame Hooch - and Mr. Dursley, if I am not much mistaken. Is everything all right?"

"Nothing serious," Hooch assured him. "Dursley had a bit of a fall during the lesson." Dudley contrived to look sheepish, but eventually gave up in favor of studying the Headmaster with interest. It was his first time seeing the man up close, and while the banana yellow robes were a little alarming, he looked a great deal like the kind of wizard muggles always imagined. He wondered, distantly, if that was on purpose.

"Well," Dumbledore was saying cheerfully, "it isn't a proper childhood without a few mishaps, hm? I won't delay you any longer, or Poppy will come after me with a bedpan again." Hooch chuckled and guided Dudley away, and it was only once they reached the stairs that he remembered the Sorting Hat telling him to talk to Dumbledore. He cursed silently the whole way to the Hospital Wing and through Madame Pomfrey's fussing. He only came out of it when she pointed her wand at his nose, and, on impulse, he lifted a hand to cover it.

"Mr. Dursley," she began, exasperated, but he interrupted her before she could say more.

"Wait, please - Madame Pomfrey, can't you just leave it to heal on its own?"

"I understand if you're nervous about it, but -"

"No, that's, I mean -"

"- _but_, I intend to do my job," she said firmly, and tapped his hand with her wand. "Lower this, please."

It wasn't a request. Dudley reluctantly lowered his hand, and yelped in surprise and pain as his nose forcibly realigned itself. A small vial was held out to him, and he blinked watery eyes at it for a moment before giving in and drinking it. Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey took the vial from him and swept away, long robe swishing against the floor.

A moment later, Hooch approached the bed and perched on the chair, looking at him very seriously.

"Now, I want you to listen to me," she said. "Talk to Poppy about what happened today - she might be able to figure out what's going on. I know I've been a little rough on you, but that was before you got hurt. I'm not going to put you back on a broom until we know what's wrong. However, you are still part of my class, so I am going to assign you essays until you can get back on the field. You can deliver them to my office and spend the rest of the period working on homework. Are we clear?"

Taken aback, Dudley nodded, then winced and wished he hadn't - whatever Madame Pomfrey had given him had made his headache even worse. "Yes ma'am."

Her face softened, and she gave his hand an awkward pat. "Get better soon, Dursley, we'll make a flier of you yet. I'll owl you your assignment tomorrow."

* * *

Madame Pomfrey, as it turned out, could find nothing physically wrong with him, and she even checked for signs of epilepsy, which made him extremely nervous. Since he couldn't exactly tell her about the time travel business, she ultimately chalked it up to anxiety, but decided that if he kept having issues he might need to visit St. Mungo's. She gave him something for his headache and kept him abed 'til dinner to make sure he was back to normal, then sent him on his way with orders to come back if he felt off. Feeling more clear-headed, but not particularly hungry, Dudley made his way to the Great Hall nevertheless, and was greated enthusiastically by Hannah and Neville.

"It was horrible," Hannah told him, unusually serious. "You just got all pale and still, and then when you fell - it looked a bit like a seizure, honestly. My aunt used to get them all the time. What happened?" She and Neville stared earnestly at him, genuinely concerned, and for a moment he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

"I- I'm not sure," he finally said, averting his eyes and fixing them on the gravy boat. "It's all a bit fuzzy still." This was, for the time being, enough to keep them from prying, but the next day, he found out that the story had made the rounds.

It wasn't so bad at first - Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the Hufflepuff table that morning and fussed over him, to his surprise - but otherwise people mostly just eyed him like he was on the verge of collapse. Within the first couple weeks of September, most of the school had figured out that he was Harry's cousin, so just about everyone knew who he was. This wasn't really a problem except that it meant the staring and whispering followed him all day. Somewhere in between the tittering in the hallways and Malfoy's insistence on reenacting his fall every time they saw each other, Dudley had to duck into an alcove and pull himself together. _This is nothing compared to having to deal with purebloods as a Muggle,_ he firmly reminded himself. _They're just children. They'll lose interest soon enough._

Which was true, because as the day wore on and he didn't do anything interesting, the attention fizzled out. After classes were finished, however, he still felt twitchy and anxious, and so he disappeared into the library to work on the essay Snape had assigned him. Before he'd met Padma and gotten involved with the Wizarding magazine she wrote for, research had been one of Dudley's least favorite things, even when all he wrote for was Muggle sports mags. But he _had_ met Padma, and he'd gotten interested in Muggle-Wizard relations, and before he knew it his flat had been full of books and papers. He discovered that when it was something that interested him, research helped him focus, and his temper didn't flare up as much.

So Dudley raided the potions section of the Hogwarts library and piled his finds on one of the tables in a small mountain before getting to work. Turning to the index of Silvanus Hext's revised version of _Historia Plantarium_, he began the hunt for information. A few books - including tomes like _De materia medica libre_ and _De Historia Stirpium Commentarii Insignes_ - later, he was beginning to realize that the history of potions making wasn't terribly well documented. Running a hand through his hair, which was sticking up in places, he returned to the bookshelves and began looking for more recent works. He'd thought, at first, that the older books were better choices, but clearly, one had to know where to look when it came to ancient texts. He browsed the selection of potions essays and magazines, which was woefully small, and scrounged up a few from the 1800s that looked promising. On a whim, he grabbed a few newer ones, and returned to his table.

* * *

A clock chimed, making Dudley jump and squint out at his surroundings. As he slowly realized that he wasn't in the library anymore, a certain dread began to fill him, and he rubbed his bleary eyes before checking his person. Everything seemed fine, and though his bag was muhc heavier than normal, he discovered that the reason was the small stack of books inside. Stuck between two was a length of parchment, and upon pulling it free, he realized with a start that it was his essay.

"Hey! What're you doing here?"

Dudley stuffed the essay back into his bag and turned to the Slytherin prefect, who was emerging from what had to be the Slytherin common room. The prefect looked him over, then said, "Lost, are you? If you're going back to Hufflepuff, go up the stairs and turn left into the corridor, it leads to the Great Hall. You can find your way from there, I presume."

"Thanks," Dudley managed to choke out, then turned and made his way up the stairs, heart pounding. Once he reached the top, he ducked into an alcove and pulled out the essay he couldn't remember writing.

It started off well enough, and he dimly recognized some of the names mentioned, but then it devolved into complete garbage. He held the parchment close to his face, trying to decipher the messy writing. For the most part, it was a rambling mess, but slowly, he began to pick out coherent pieces. It was as if he'd sat and spilled a bunch of meaningless memories onto the page - they weren't even anything interesting, though he now knew what he ate on the fifth of October two years previous. The memories filled the rest of the page, thankfully not overflowing onto the back, and ended with the line, "Not this brave at night, are you?" Dudley frowned at it, puzzled. He could vaguely remember saying something like it to Harry, once, but it was ages ago, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't remember the context. He folded the parchment and returned it to his bag, the sentence settling into the back of his mind as he began to walk.

_ Not this brave at night, are you?_

He was so wrapped up in the puzzle of it that he nearly ran smack into Malfoy when he turned the corner. Dudley caught himself just in time, and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, because Malfoy hadn't even noticed him. He was staring elsewhere, hands clenched at his sides, a look of longing on his pointed face. Curious, Dudley followed his line of sight, and found himself looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The three of them had just begun to climb the far stairs, laughing at something Ron was saying, and Harry ducked as Ron went a little overboard with the excited gesturing. He grinned at the redhead and said something teasing, making the boy's ears turn red with embarrassment. Movement to Dudley's left caught his attention, and he looked back at Malfoy. The Slytherin's knuckles had turned white, and there was a thread of anger winding through him. Finally, he turned and saw Dudley, and color rose in his cheeks.

"What do you want, _Mudblood_?" he sneered.

"I think the better question," Dudley said, unthinking, "is what do _you_ want?"

Malfoy gaped at him, clearly shocked that he'd not only got a reply, but that it wasn't an angry one. "What?"

Deciding to run with it, Dudley nodded towards the far staircase. "You want to be friends with Harry, right? He told me about your meeting on the train." He hadn't, not exactly, but it didn't take a genius to figure out how everything had gone down.

The Slytherin scowled and attempted to shove past him, but Dudley didn't budge. "I don't see how it's any of your business-"

"He's my cousin," Dudley said mildly, "so it is a little. You realize that if you stopped calling people Mudbloods, he might be more inclined to like you."

"Shut up! I don't need your advice," Malfoy spat, and walked around him, stomping as he went.

After a moment, Dudley turned and called his name. The Slytherin ignored him, so he said, "I used to be much worse to Harry than you." The blonde stopped dead, and he continued, "If I can be friends with him now, I'm sure you can." Without waiting for a response, he made for the Hufflepuff common room, and only smiled at Hannah and Neville before going to the dorm and collapsing on his bed. He stared up at the canopy for a minute or so, then sat up and drew the curtains closed, opening his bag and pulling out the strange essay once more. He tried his hand at a magic detection spell he'd watched Hermione practice, but after nearly setting the parchment on fire, gave up on that venture and settled for staring at it. He eventually fell asleep, face mushed against the parchment on his pillow, and in the morning he'd have embarrassing ink stains on one cheek.

That night, however, he dreamed of dementors.


	7. Halloween

**CHAPTER SIX**

Halloween took everyone by surprise, because they'd all been so busy with homework - and Harry with quidditch practice - that none of them had realized they'd been at Hogwarts for two months. So when Dudley woke to the smell of baking pumpkin wafting down from the kitchens, he laid in bed a few extra minutes, enjoying the quiet as he mulled things over. It'd been about a week since he'd talked to Malfoy, and since then, he hadn't seen much of the blonde, except at meals. Harry hadn't, either, and Dudley was beginning to hope that Malfoy was thinking about what he'd said.

In any case, he had other things to worry about. He hauled himself out of bed and made for the showers, torn between being happy that his first class of the day was with Gryffindor, and despairing that it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was well tired of the reeking classroom and Quirrel's constant stammering, and the others didn't seem to be faring much better. Harry had headaches almost every class, Neville half-suspected he was developing asthma from the stench alone, and the lessons weren't moving fast enough for Hermione. Ron and Hannah seemed to be the only ones who actually enjoyed it, and they were over the moon about learning the Knockback Jinx.

As Dudley passed the bathroom mirror, he glanced in, only to stop dead, mouth opening in shock, because the mirror was reflecting an older Dudley. After he recovered from the surprise, he realized that the bathroom had changed too, and it was, of course, one of the bathrooms at Smeltings. The boy in the mirror was about sixteen and the thinnest he'd ever been as a child. The dark circles under his eyes served as proof that he'd had the same dreams about the dementors that plagued him now. Dudley gazed sympathetically at this false reflection and couldn't help reaching out to give the glass a gentle pat.

"It's for the best," he whispered, then watched in astonishment as the memory did something none of the others had.

It _changed._

The reflection's eyes shifted to stare directly back at him, and mouthed, "Not this brave at night, are you?"

Dudley reared back, every alarm bell in his head going off at once. His reflection only stared, dead-eyed, and as Dudley pressed himself against the far wall, the memory vanished. He let his head hit the wall with a quiet thump and rubbed a shaking hand over his face. A moment later he nearly had a heart attack when Ernie banged a fist on the door. "Dursley, hurry it up! You're not the only one who needs a shower!"

"Okay!" Dudley called back, and pointedly did not look at the mirror again.

When they entered the Defense class that morning, it was to find that all the desks had been pushed to the back of the room, and a number of garish pillows littered the floor. Apparently, this lesson would be a practical one. Sighing, he resigned himself to the Gryffindors finally seeing how crap he was at magic. So far it hadn't really been an issue, because as first years, most of what they learned was theory, and everyone started off about the same. However, everyone else had also improved over the year. Dudley really, really hadn't - though his wand form was fast approaching perfection.

Once the students were all standing awkwardly in front of the cushions and Harry was rubbing absently at his scar, Quirrel turned from writing the spell on the board and smiled nervously. "N-n-now," he began, "th-the Knockback J-jinx is not complex. The p-p-purpose of the spell is t-to, as the n-name suggests, push someone o-or some_thing_ backwards." His blue eyes scanned the group of students, and he gestured to Hannah. "P-please stand there," he said, gesturing, then moved to arrange cushions behind her, sticking some to the wall with a quick, muttered charm. "W-watch closely," Quirrel instructed the rest of them, almost tripping on a cushion as he moved to stand in front of Hannah. He cleared his throat and raised his wand with surprising grace, before uttering the incantation and giving his wand a firm wave. Hannah was flung backwards into the cushions, and she landed with a surprised yelp. She blinked, then uttered a whoop of delight and staggered to her feet.

Afterwards, Quirrel gave them instructions on wand movements and the incantation, then unstuck the cushions from the wall and had them pair up to practice on those. At first, no one was able to make their cushion do much more than twitch, but then Seamus Finnegan accidentally set fire to the cushion he and Harry were sharing, and after that everyone paid a little more attention to what they were doing. Soon, a few cushions were scooting cautiously across the floor.

Dudley was paired up with Hannah, and gladly let her go first. As she struggled with the cushion, he turned his attention to the other students, and almost immediately spotted a problem - Hermione and Ron had been put together. The redhead was flailing ineffectually at their cushion, and Hermione wore a long-suffering look. "It's fli-PEN-do, not FLEE-pen-do," she finally snapped, "and you're holding your wand too stiffly."

Ron lowered his hand and scowled at her. "You do it then, if you're so clever," he snarled.

With a delicate sniff, Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robes, then waved her wand and uttered the incantation without hesitation. The cushion shot away, nearly hitting Justin Finch-Fletchley in the face. The other students stopped what they were doing in surprise, and Dudley hastened to stifle a laugh. "W-well done, Miss Granger!" Quirrel said, looking just as surprised as anyone else. "V-very well d-done." Hermione beamed at him, then turned to Ron and raised her eyebrows. He glared, then stomped off to retrieve the cushion.

By the end of class, during which Ron accidentally-on-purpose managed to hit Hermione in the face with the cushion, they were no longer speaking to each other, and when they set off for the next one, Harry cast a helpless look back at the Hufflepuffs, who could only give him sympathetic looks in return.

The teacher for Magical Theory was a squat Asian witch who was always patient and kind to everyone. Her grey hair was done up differently every day - this time, it was all curls, and there were little ribbons woven through that shone like sunlight. It made her look as if she had a cloud on her head, and it made some of the girls coo in delight. She smiled at the Hufflepuffs as they took their seats, then resumed writing on the board. Dudley pulled out his textbook, parchment, and quill, then watched as the Slytherins filtered in. There was no sign of Malfoy.

Dudley wondered at it, staring at Malfoy's empty seat until Professor Saowaluk gently tapped his desk with her wand to catch his attention. "While your concern for your absent peers is admirable," she said quietly, smiling, "you _are_ in class, Mr. Dursley. Please pay attention." She waited patiently for him to open his book and directed him to the page they were currently reading before resuming her lecture.

* * *

It wasn't until he was walking to the Halloween Feast that night that Dudley thought about Malfoy again, and he couldn't help asking his friends if they'd seen him. Neville and Hannah were just as clueless, but Hermione, who was walking with them to avoid Ron, said, "Just now I heard Pansy Parkinson saying that he was going to the second floor, but she didn't say why. Is something going on with you two? We haven't seen much of him all week."

"Not really," Dudley said, shrugging. "It's just, I said something to him last time I saw him, about - before this summer."

Hermione's face softened as she realized what he was saying. "Oh. You're trying to help him, then?"

"If I can." Before they could say more, however, they stepped into the Great Hall, and the Halloween decorations swept everything else from their minds. Thousands of black bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling and swooped over the tables in swarms, making the candles - which were in floating Jack O' Lanterns - stutter. Hanging from the walls were great orange- and black-bordered tapestries depicting things like ghosts and werewolves and zombies. One of the more gruesome figures waved cheerily at Neville, who went pale and hesitantly waved back.

Hermione followed them to the Hufflepuff table, pausing only to narrow her eyes at Ron, who made a face back at her. Harry stared longingly at the group, only to be distracted by Professor Dumbledore's brief Halloween speech, which was followed immediately by the appearance of food on the tables. There was an almost alarming number of sweets, but there were also meats and vegetables, which was where it got a little weird. There was a bowl of brussels sprouts charmed to look like eyeballs, and cauliflower done up like brains, and elaborate kebab skeletons.

Dudley was just helping himself to a bit of roast when Professor Quirrel came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and a look of pure terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar, and it took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence. Dudley, through the ringing in his ears, could faintly hear someone sniffling. "Prefects," Dumbledore called, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Hermione went to join the Gryffindors, and Dudley trailed behind Neville and Hannah as the Hufflepuffs were led out. "How could a troll get in?" Neville wondered, stumbling a little as he was jostled by other students.

"I dunno, they're supposed to be really stupid," Hannah said, reaching out to steady him. "Maybe Peeves let it in as a joke?"

As they passed through the Gryffindors, Dudley realized that if Malfoy really was up on the second floor, then he'd have no idea about the troll. He agonized about it for a minute, then checked to make sure no one was watching before slipping away and tailing the Gryffindors. He walked behind a couple of older students and kept a wary eye out as they climbed the stairs, but everything was so chaotic that no one noticed him at all. The Gryffindors reached the second floor and continued on to the next staircase, and Dudley broke away, ducking into an alcove just to be certain. He took a moment to half-heartedly try to talk himself out of looking for Malfoy, but in the end, found himself leaving the alcove and venturing forward anyway. Not for the first time, he wished his magic was stronger. If it was, maybe he could've learned a tracking spell - it would certainly make life easier.

He made quick work of it, peeking into classrooms and closets and bathrooms, but he soon got so turned around that he found himself in front of the third floor corridor again. He scowled at the door, and wondered if this had been Malfoy's destination after all. He stepped closer, and was just about to try the door when he heard a shrill scream. It sounded like it was coming from the stairwell, so he took off, struggling to remember the way. One false turn later, he found himself staring, mouth open, at the enormous troll in his path. It smelled horrible, had to be at least twelve feet tall, and held a club that he really did not want to get acquainted with. Beyond the troll, pressed against the stone railing with no way to get to the stairs, was Malfoy. His pale eyes were huge and watery with fear, and he was panting as if he'd been running.

"Oi!" Dudley shouted before he could think better of it. Malfoy's eyes snapped to him, but the troll either didn't hear him or was very slow. He picked up the closest thing at hand, which was a small, heavy statue of a satyr.

"What d'you think you're doing?" the statue demanded in a high-pitched voice, then squealed in fear as he chucked it at the troll. It bounced off the thing's head, and Dudley suddenly found himself the center of attention.

"That's right," he called, rolling up his sleeves. "why don't you come get me? Lots more meat on these bones." He had no idea if trolls even ate people, but he shoved it from his mind, because there was really no time to worry about it.

The troll grunted and lurched towards him, raising the club, and Dudley shot off, sliding a little and bumping into the railing a few yards away from Malfoy, who was staring at him like he was mad. The troll looked around, confused, and Dudley took out his wand. "Over here, you big oaf!" An idea formed in his mind, and while he quietly bemoaned its idiocy, he nevertheless risked a quick glance over the railing before ducking to the side as the troll's club smashed a nearby side table to bits.

He scrambled to get out of range, and got to his feet. "Flipendo!" he shouted, waving his wand, and the troll stumbled a little, though that was possibly due to its own clumsiness. It turned to stare at him, then lifted its club, and Dudley tried the spell again. The troll moved back a few inches, and it looked down at its feet in confusion. Dudley gritted his teeth, then shouted the incantation, putting everything he had into it. He waved his wand almost viciously, and a blast of silver light shot out and knocked the troll's club out of its hand and over the railing.

That wasn't what Dudley had been trying to do, and he wasn't sure he had another successful Knockback Jinx in him, but the troll turned and tried to catch its club, leaning far over. Dudley threw himself at the troll, yelling as he did in hopes it would startle the damn thing, and hit just right. The momentum knocked the overbalanced troll over the railing, and Dudley barely kept himself from going over. He watched, panting, as the troll fell three stories, missing a moving staircase by pure chance, before crashing into the floor just as the teachers emerged from a corridor. Someone let out a little scream of surprise, and all eyes turned upward to see what had caused the troll to fall.

"_Dursley!_"

Dudley jumped, startled, and found Snape swooping towards him, his face contorted with rage. He was limping, and Dudley wondered what he could possibly have been doing. Before he could follow that line of thought, however, he was seized by the front of his robes. "What were you thinking! Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"I-" Dudley began, then remembered why he'd gone looking in the first place. "Malfoy!" He twisted in Snape's grip to see if the blonde was still there, and fortunately, he was, though he still looked a few kinds of terrified. "Are you all right?"

Snape turned to stare at the other boy and repeated the question, and Malfoy nodded jerkily. Satisfied for the moment, he released his hold on Dudley, then said, more calmly, "Explain yourself."

Dudley slumped against the railing with a sigh, putting his wand away. "I heard that Malfoy was up here, so I wanted to warn him about the troll," he explained. "Since Professor Quirrel said it was in the dungeons, I figured there'd be plenty of time. When I finally found him, the troll had first, so I distracted it and, well..." He gestured at the railing, assuming Snape had seen the last bit. The man stepped forward to look over the side, then looked at him.

"I will leave your punishment to your Head of House," he said, a fresh undercurrent of anger in his words, "but for quick thinking, I'll award a point to Hufflepuff."

Amazed, Dudley watched, mouth open in surprise, as Snape went to Malfoy, who was red in the face by now. "I didn't _need_ help," the Slytherin said petulantly, but in Snape's presence there wasn't much strength to it, and he struggled to his feet. As Snape began to herd them towards the stairs, McGonagall and Sprout reached the floor, and slumped in relief when they saw that everyone was all right.

"Mr. Dursley is the one who fought the troll," Snape said, gesturing almost violently at him. "Pomona, I think it's best if you decide what to do with him."

The witch nodded, and gestured sternly to Dudley, who followed her obediently. As they went, he heard McGonagall say to Snape, "And the corridor?"

"Secure," Snape replied. "Must not've had time. The troll moved fast. Come along, Draco."

* * *

In the end, Professor Sprout was more relieved that he was in one piece than anything else, so she set him up for detentions in the greenhouses all next week and gave him a bear hug before ushering him into the Hufflepuff common room and going back to help the rest of the teachers. The feast had been brought up to the dormitories, and everyone was standing around chatting happily amongst themselves. Neville and Hannah were on him immediately.

"Where were you?" Hannah cried, setting her plate aside so she could thump him on the head. "We were so worried!"

"Did you go looking for Malfoy?" Neville asked, and Dudley blinked at him in surprise.

"Er, yeah," he said, then drew them into a corner and told them the whole story. Around the time he was handed a plate piled high with food and sweets, he realized that most of the common room was listening. He cleared his throat, then resumed his tale, balancing the plate on his knees so he could gesture, concluding with, "and then, splat! The troll hit the ground right in front of all the teachers."

Amidst the excited chatter that followed, Justin said, "And how much trouble are you in?"

Dudley shrugged, picking up his plate. "Detention with Professor Sprout all of next week. It was worth it, though."

"Why do it in the first place?" Susan Bones asked, frowning. "Malfoy isn't exactly nice to you."

"No," he agreed, "but I don't want him dead." With that, he grabbed a fork and started to eat.

The crowd broke apart, leaving Hannah and Neville at his side. Cedric hovered for a moment, as if unsure whether to scold or congratulate him, then finally patted his shoulder and said, "Well, glad you made it out all right." And he wandered off.

Neville offered him a goblet of pumpkin juice. "So what happened after you won?" he asked, once again seeing straight to the heart of the matter.

"Snape came up behind me," Dudley said, accepting the goblet. "Scared the hell out of me, I almost went over the side myself. He scolded me for being an idiot, then gave me five points for saving Malfoy and turned me over to Professor Sprout."

His friends stared at him, gobsmacked. "You sure you didn't hit your head, Dudley?" Hannah asked, eyeing him with concern, and he grinned.

"If I have brain damage it's because of you," he teased, and she laughed sheepishly.

"Sorry," she said, smiling and ruffling his hair. "We were _really_ worried."

"I wouldn't have reacted much better," Dudley admitted. "If Snape hadn't shown up I probably would've thumped Malfoy."

Hannah snorted, clearly imagining it, and Neville shook his head, grinning. "I think most of the school would've liked to see that."

* * *

By breakfast the next day, though Dudley was at a loss to say how, everyone in school knew he'd defeated the troll. Fortunately, the majority of them also agreed that it was impossible for a first year to do such a thing alone, so the story was mostly ignored. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were another story, however. The rift between Ron and Hermione seemed to be closed for the time being, to everyone's relief, but that didn't mean they were too afraid to argue.

"Honestly, you could've been _killed_," she said sternly after Dudley shared the actual story with them. "What if the jinx hadn't worked?"

"Probably would've thrown himself at the troll sooner," Ron said with a snort. "Good one, mate."

"Don't encourage him, Ronald," Hermione said, frowning at him. Ron opened his mouth, but Dudley didn't hear what he said, because Harry lightly touched his arm to get his attention.

"Are you really okay, though?" he asked quietly, and Dudley was taken aback by the genuine concern on his face. His relationship with Harry had been surprisingly good since the summer, but he didn't think for a second that Harry'd completely forgiven him for anything. Which was fine, Dudley didn't expect to be forgiven any time soon, considering, but it meant that he also didn't expect Harry to treat him as a friend in the meantime, so moments like this tended to catch him off guard.

Pulling himself together, he smiled. "I'm fine. I have a small bruise on my arm, but that could be from anything, honestly. I'm just glad you guys didn't run into the troll, it was disgusting."

"D'you think Malfoy will be nicer now?" Hannah wondered, and Ron, who was no longer bickering with Hermione, snorted.

"I doubt it," he said, buttering a piece of toast. "If Dudley was pureblood, maybe. Malfoy's been brainwashed from day _one_."

"I didn't mean just that," Harry said slowly, carefully,as if worried about Dudley's reaction. "It's just - ever since summer, you've been really different. For the most part it's good, I'm glad of it, believe me. But more and more you just seem to... to drift off. You turn into someone else for a bit."

"And then scary things happen," Hannah put in quietly. "Like you falling off your broom and getting hurt, or talking to people who aren't there."

Now Ron looked confused, and Hermione and Neville were watching with varying degrees of worry. Dudley gaped at all of them. He knew that some things were a little obvious, but he thought he'd been hiding his episodes better than that. "I'm fine, really. I mean, thank you, for worrying, but." He scratched his head and looked away, feeling sheepish. "I'm not having an easy time adjusting, and, well, the situation with mum and dad... I just have a lot of weird dreams, and they bleed over a bit."_ It isn't entirely untrue, _he thought to himself, _just... mostly._

Hermione frowned. "Why don't you ask Madame Pomfrey for a sleeping potion?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Dudley admitted, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"After today's classes, go to talk to her about it," Hermione ordered, reminding him forcibly of the woman he used to know. "We're all worried."

Dudley looked at all of their small, frowning faces, and for the first time, really felt the age gap. He smiled warmly at them, then gave Hermione a cheeky salute. "Aye aye, Captain." Her stern demeanor broke, and she giggled despite herself.

He cast a glance up at the high table, where Professor Dumbledore was cheerfully peeling an orange. _I have to talk to him as soon as possible,_ he decided. _I can't keep on like this._


	8. Quidditch

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

As they entered November, they began waking up to increasingly cold, frosty mornings, and, in Dudley's case at least, waking up _late_.

"It's those sleeping potions," he groaned between bites of muffin one morning as he and Neville hurried to class. "I can't even remember the last time I made it to breakfast, and I'm always so exhausted."

"You were at breakfast three days ago," Neville informed him, amused, "and if you'd remember to go to bed at a decent hour, this wouldn't be a problem." Which was, of course, a very good point, and Dudley could only answer with a muffled, grumpy harrumph.

On the other hand, Quidditch season had begun, and despite Oliver Wood's best efforts, the entire castle knew Harry would be playing. Wood had, however, succeeded in making sure almost no one had seen the new Seeker play, so there were countless rumors about his skill. Harry himself looked ready to puke every time the game was mentioned.

The Friday before Harry's first match found the six of them outside, Hannah and Ron coaxing Neville into playing a version of tag that somehow involved cauldron cakes while the other three huddled together for warmth. Hermione had a little blue fire in a jar, and while it gave off a surprising amount of heat, it wasn't much defense against the chilly breeze. Harry seemed to be the only one immune to the cold, nose firmly planted in a library copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

"Did you know," Harry said to no one in particular, "that there are seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul, and all of them happened during the 1473 World Cup?"

Dudley and Hermione looked up from their discussion about homework and shared a glance, Hermione rolling her eyes fondly. "Yes, Harry," she said gently. "I think you've told us about ten times now."

"Sorry, I'm just-" Whatever Harry was about to say was abruptly lost, and he moved slightly to hide the fire from view. A moment later, Dudley caught sight of Snape, and he shifted to hide the fire too, vaguely aware that it was probably not allowed. He had no desire to incur Snape's wrath, not when the Potions Master had been in a foul temper since Halloween, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Snape's mysterious limp had yet to go away.

Snape hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for some reason to tell them off anyway, because as soon as he was in earshot he snapped, "What's that you've got there, Potter?" He stopped in front of them, breathing perhaps a little more heavily than he'd like, and glared ferociously as Harry showed him the book. "Library books are not to be taken outside the school. Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

Of course, just as Harry reluctantly handed it over, there was an alarmed shout from behind them and a soggy cauldron cake whizzed by, narrowly missing Snape's left ear. His face turned thunderous, and he bellowed, "Abbott! Weasley! Detention in my office tonight! _Ten_ points from Gryffindor, and five from Hufflepuff!"

He stormed off, nearly slipping on a patch of muddy ground in his haste, and Harry scowled at his retreating form. "He's just made that rule up."

"I wonder what's wrong with his leg," Hermione murmured, and Hannah, coming up alongside them, snorted, kicking at the ground.

"Whatever it is, I hope it's really hurting him," she said bitterly, and Ron nodded almost violently in agreement. Dudley wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter.

* * *

The incident stuck with him for the rest of the day, however, so during dinner he suggested to the others that he try and get the book back. Harry offered to come with him, but wasn't terribly put out when Dudley insisted on going it alone. So it was that before it was time for Ron and Hannah's detention, Dudley made his way to the staffroom in search of Snape. He had little faith that he'd find him there, since Potions Master tended to prefer his personal office, but it couldn't hurt to check, so he walked right up and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, though, even when he tried again, and he was about to leave when it occurred to him that Snape could've left the book in there. He eased the door open just an inch or two, and saw at once that the room was not nearly as empty as he'd thought.

Snape and Filch stood at the other end of the room, the former holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was a mangled, bloody mess, and Filch was handing over fresh bandages. "Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Dudley immediately shut the door again and leaned against the wall, heart pounding, and forced himself to stay quiet and calm til he thought there had been enough time for Snape to finish what he was doing. Then he pulled away from the wall and knocked more loudly on the door. He waited, and had just raised his hand to do it again when the door was opened.

"Dursley," the professor said, sneering, "what do you want?"

"Excuse me for interrupting, sir," Dudley said with as much confidence as he could muster, "but I was wondering if you still had _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and if I might get it back."

In truth, Snape looked as if he'd completely forgotten about the book, but now he glanced behind him and wordlessly summoned it. "Inform your cousin that my punishment will be more severe if I catch him at it again," he said shortly, handing the book over, then shut the door firmly in Dudley's face. The first year heaved a sigh of relief and immediately took off in search of the others, glad that he hadn't been caught eavesdropping.

"I don't want to know how he'd have reacted if he'd seen me," he commented to a napping portrait as he passed, making it wake with an alarmed snort.

When he finally turned the book over to Harry, though, the others were more concerned with Snape's injury and what Dudley heard him say. "You know what this means?" Harry whispered excitedly when the story was done. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween! That explains why he wasn't with the other teachers - he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

To Dudley's alarm, the others seemed to find this a reasonable theory, even Hermione, though she seemed reluctant. "No - he wouldn't," she said finally. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron, but Hannah neatly prevented another argument through application of her elbow to his ribs.

"I agree," she said quietly, "I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

"Does it matter?" Neville put in. "We're first years, we should tell- tell Professor Sprout or Professor McGonagall or someone."

Dudley waved his hand in their faces to get their attention. "Guys, Snape couldn't have let the troll in, he was in the Great Hall with us, and right before that Ernie had detention with him. Not to mention on Halloween, he reported to Professor McGonagall that the corridor was secure. I know you don't like him, but I don't think he's the thief."

The others deflated a little. "But the dog-" Ron began.

"D'you think a dog like that would like anybody?" Dudley asked, raising an eyebrow. "'Specially since they keep it locked up all the time. Now look, I want to know what's going on just as much as anybody, but we can't just make assumptions about people."

This was met with grudging agreement, and while he doubted any of the others were sold on the idea, Dudley was glad they were at least willing to drop it for the time being.

Which meant, of course, that it all went to shit the very next day.

* * *

By the time Dudley hauled himself out of bed and down to the Great Hall that morning, it was packed full - but instead of everyone drooping tiredly in anticipation of classes, the conversation was loud and excited and revolved almost entirely around Quidditch. Sighing, he trudged over to the Hufflepuff table and slumped down on a chair, eliciting a sympathetic noise from Cedric. The older boy looked as fresh and tidy as ever as he buttered a scone, and he obligingly nudged the jam over to him. "You're not sitting with the others today?" he asked.

Dudley squinted at him, then looked over at the Gryffindor table and groaned when he realized he was alone. "I don't want to move again," he grumbled, folding his arms on the table and burying his face in them. Above him, Cedric chuckled.

What felt like a second later, someone shook him awake, and he sat up with a jolt, startling Hermione. "Sorry," they said at the same time, and then she smiled and pointed to the corner of her mouth. "You've got a bit of drool here."

Somewhat embarrassed, Dudley wiped his face and looked around. Cedric had gone, and so had some of the other students, but otherwise it didn't seem like much time had passed. "How long've I been asleep on the table?"

"Only a couple of minutes, I think. I'd have woken you sooner but I didn't see you at first," Hermione said, and offered him a hand. "Want to join us?"

Dudley politely refused her hand and got up with no little effort, then followed her to the Gryffindor table, where the others were trying to coax Harry into eating his breakfast. Seamus wasn't helping. "C'mon, Harry, eat up!" he said cheerfully, piling ketchup on his sausages. "You need your strength! Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry said a little sourly as he pushed a mangled fried egg round his plate.

"Banana," Dudley said with a yawn, sitting down near them. "Keep your energy up. 'S got potassium. Vitamins 'n' things."

Ron stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, but Hermione nodded brightly. "He's right, Harry! Just one- please?" And she stared at him so earnestly that he eventually gave in.

Later, when Harry left to meet the rest of the Gryffindor team, Hermione and Ron half-dragged the Hufflepuffs to the stands. Once there, Hermione had pulled a sheet from her bag, and, when she received confused stares from the Hufflepuffs, smugly unfolded it to reveal a banner. "Everyone worked on it last night to surprise Harry," she said brightly. "I'd have asked you, but I don't think we're allowed to bring students from other houses into the common rooms. But you can help hold it, if you like!"

"Who drew the lion?" Dudley asked, looking at the banner with interest. It said _Potter for President_ in large, blocky lettering, and the last few letters were a bit smudged, like someone had fallen on it.

"I did," said Dean from behind Hermione, and looked shyly down at his shoes when the Hufflepuffs praised his work.

"They're coming onto the field!" someone cried, and then everyone was moving all at once, trying to find a part of the banner to hold up. Dudley and Neville found themselves squashed together at one end, sandwiched by two sixth years who were bickering over the top corner. As it was, they could barely see over the edge of the stands, but they didn't have to wait long before the teams were rising gracefully into the air. Harry glanced their way, and the Gryffindors holding the banner roared their support.

The game began, and Dudley found himself wishing he'd paid more attention when his friends had talked about Quidditch. He watched with a vague sort of puzzlement as Angelina took possession of the Quaffle first thing, listening with half an ear to Lee Jordan's enthusiastic commentary.

"-Neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve," he was saying, voice booming over the field from somewhere to Dudley's left. "Back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle - there's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - Quaffle taken by the Slytherins - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goalposts are ahead - come on now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor roared once again, countered by howls and moans from the Slytherins, and as he watched Harry do joyous loop-the-loops over the field, Dudley wondered if he'd still have his hearing when this was all over. He was rubbing his ear when a new voice filtered in, and he looked up in surprise as Hagrid shuffled over. "Hagrid!" cried Hermione, who was closest, and she and Hannah squeezed together to give him space, nearly bowling Ron over. Dudley and Neville waved from their cramped position, and the gamekeeper waved cheerfully back.

"Bin watchin from me hut," said Hagrid, patting the enormous binoculars hanging from his neck. "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron as he balanced carefully on the edge of the bench. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Gryffindor's doing well, though," Hannah said brightly, as if Hagrid didn't already know. "This is so _exciting_!"

"Be better if we weren't squished," muttered Neville from the vicinity of Dudley's elbow, and he experimentally nudged the closest sixth year. The older student shuffled back, and suddenly the two Hufflepuffs were able to sit up straight. Dudley grinned as Neville blinked at him.

"You were saying?" he teased, and Neville barely had time to laugh before the word "-Snitch!" was bellowed by Lee.

Their attention was back on the field in a heartbeat, and they watched anxiously, just as frozen as the Chasers, as Harry flew neck and neck with the Slytherin Seeker. Harry was just that little bit faster, and it seemed he was about to speed up and catch the elusive golden ball when Marcus Flint rammed bodily into him, sending him spinning off course, holding onto the broom for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors. Hermione had to pull Hannah back from where she was trying to angrily climb over the edge of the stands. Somewhere behind them, Dean was screaming about red cards, and Ron was bemusedly reminding him that this was Quidditch.

Dudley, meanwhile, was suddenly feeling very sick to his stomach. He'd seen one of Ginny's games with the Harpies, once, so he knew that Quidditch could be violent, but... these were kids. He'd thought Hogwarts would tone it down, maybe have softening charms on the Bludgers or something. _I was going to let Ariana play this,_ he thought, and gripped the edge of the bench tightly as visions of broken bones and even death flickered through his head.

Neville shook him, pointing, and it took him a moment to work out what he was saying, but when he did, he kind of wished he hadn't. Up above the field, Harry had lost control of his broom entirely, and it was bucking wildly as it slowly rose higher and higher.

By now, the whole crowd had realized that something was wrong, their confused and worried eyes fixed on Harry as his broom rolled. Then there was a collective gasp and even a few screams, and Dudley swore violently, because the broom had given a sudden, wild jerk, and now Harry was dangling from it by only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," and "Not a chance," Hannah and Hagrid said simultaneously, both looking a little sick. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic," Hagrid continued, voice shaking. "No kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

He uttered a strangled sort of noise as Hermione seized his binoculars, but instead of looking at Harry, she started scanning the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it!" Hermione gasped, then shoved the binoculars at Ron and Hannah - Dudley and Neville were a little out of range. She whispered violently, then disappeared into the crowd, and Dudley looked back up at Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard it was bouncing him, making it nearly impossible for him to hold on. The crowd was on its feet now, watching in horror as the Weasleys tried to get close enough to pull Harry to safety. It was no use, though, because the broom merely lifted him out of reach. One of the twins shouted for Harry to let go, but that was answered with an emphatic shake of the head. In response, the Weasleys dropped lower and circled slowly beneath him, hoping to catch him in case he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Whatever Hermione's doing, I hope she does it fast," breathed a watery-eyed Neville, gaze fixed on Harry.

A movement caught Dudley's eye and he turned his head, not sure what it was, until he saw Professor Quirrel pitch forward, flailing gracelessly. He had no time to wonder about it, because flames were suddenly licking at the bottom of Snape's robes. Snape hurried to put them out, but Neville pulled on Dudley's arm and he immediately forgot all about it.

Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to climb back on his broom, and before anyone had time to do more than sigh in relief, he was rocketing towards the ground, focused intently on something. He was nearly there when he suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth as if he were going to be sick, and when he was near enough to the ground he leapt from his broom and coughed a few times. Then he held up his hand with a triumphant grin, and everyone saw the golden Snitch in his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he cried, waving it over his head, and anything else he might've said was drowned out by the screams of delight and confusion.

* * *

Slytherin wasn't pleased, but Harry hadn't broken any rules, and Gryffindor had won by a hundred and seventy points to sixty. Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results twenty minutes later, but by that time, Harry and his friends were seated comfortably in Hagrid's hut.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining as Hagrid pressed a large mug of tea into Harry's still-shaking hands. "Hermione and Hannah and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who apparently hadn't heard a word of it while they were in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Dudley looked down at his own mug of tea as the others shared significant glances.

Finally, Harry said, "We found out he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot, and it hit the floor with an alarming _thunk_.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy?_"

"Yeah - he's mine, bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

"Yes?" chimed Harry and Hannah eagerly, the latter dangerously close to falling off her seat.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

Hagrid retrieved his teapot and repeated, "Rubbish. Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try to kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events seemed to have made up her mind about Snape, that was for sure. Normally, Dudley would've been relieved that at least Hagrid still agreed with him, but he couldn't think of any way to argue with what his friends had seen. He continued staring quietly down at his tea, fingers thrumming nervously on the side of the large mug. Flashes of Smeltings flickered on the surface of his drink, and he steadfastly ignored them.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them," Hermione continued, face set in a determined frown. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly, brandishing a spoon at her. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now listen up, all of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel-"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true..."

Dudley's head snapped up, but Hagrid's hut had disappeared, replaced by the small alley that served as a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria walk, and Harry was pointing his wand at him, snarling, "Don't ever talk about that again. D'you understand me?"

He was pressed against the alley wall, desperately trying to pull out of the memory, as his mouth said, "Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, _do you understand me?_"

"_Point it somewhere else!_"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-"

The Hogwarts Express roared past, demolishing the fence, and the two of them gawped at it uncertainly, quarrel forgotten. As the familiar cold chill crept up on Dudley, he watched numbly as the train hit a section of broken track and went careening off the rails, a chorus of screams rising. As the back of the train screeched past him, time seemed to slow, and through the windows he saw the frightened faces of the Potter and Weasley children, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she screamed at beat ineffectually at the window.

"_Ariana!_" he cried, and wrenched his body forward to try and rescue her, but just before he reached the train, he was back on the exploding platform, debris flying through the air. He did not fall to the ground this time, despite the platform heaving and bucking under his feet like a stormy sea, only stood there and stared in horror. People were crushed under pillars and piles of rubble, others impaled by shrapnel, and there were men and women in blood red cloaks firing spells at Harry and the others. As he watched his friends fall one by one, Dudley had a sudden awareness that elsewhere, all across Wizarding Britain, there were similar scenes of violence. He saw, in his periphery, a raid on his own house, and the fight that Padma put up despite her fever. It was over in seconds, and then he was seeing the Burrow, which he had never been to but recognized at once, and saw it being blasted apart. Then the Ministry. Diagon Alley. Little villages he'd never heard of. Hogsmeade. There were too many of the red-cloaked combatants, and they had clearly been planning this strike for a long time.

There was a feeling like being immersed in ice water, and Dudley was sitting on the couch wedged between his mother and father. Dumbledore was in the armchair nearest the fire, staring coldly at Petunia. "You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted on the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

"Us - mistreat Dudders? What d'you-?" began Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Vernon dumb.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home'. However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom." Dumbledore continued, but his words became muted and strange, as if he were speaking behind glass. Dudley stood, and no one noticed, not even Harry, who was staring wide-eyed about the room.

Even his own movements were slow and unnatural, and as he watched his hand move through the air, it seemed almost blurry. His hand then raised of its own accord, and traced a mark. The air glimmered in its wake, and when he finished, there was a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth. It shone a sickly, poisonous green, and then the eyes opened red and a pale man with a snake for a tongue laughed at him.

"Not this brave at night, are you?" he whispered, mouth widening into a horrible smirk, and he raised his wand.

The spell was a flash of green that drowned out all else, and Dudley shot up, gasping. There was a loud buzzing in his ears, and as he calmed, he slowly registered it as the voices of students. He shivered violently, suddenly aware that he was sitting on the frosty ground in November, and apparently had been for some time. He wasn't even dressed for the cold and it was obviously morning, but he had no idea what day it was. "-ley! _Dudley!_" someone called, and he jerked towards the voice. Those standing closest stepped back, and then he registered Hermione's frightened face. He had trouble remembering, for a moment, why she was so young, but then it clicked and his world righted itself, and he became dimly aware that he was crying.

The crowd parted to let teachers through, but Dudley ignored them, suddenly realizing that everyone was standing a good distance away. He looked down and immediately spotted the reason - all around him, in a circle, the earth was churned and smooth, like a bubbling stream suddenly frozen over. Slowly, Dudley pushed himself to his feet, feeling like he'd been asleep for days, and stumbled. Someone caught him, and he found himself looking up at Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout. "Easy, Mr. Dursley," Sprout said gently. "We're going to levitate you up to the Hospital Wing, all right?"

He managed a jerky nod, and then he was floating, and he had to fight not to panic at how helpless it made him feel. "Easy," Sprout murmured again, and they levitated him back towards the castle. In the distance, he heard someone telling the other students to get back inside, and he stared blankly upwards.

_What,_ he finally thought, _the hell just happened?_


End file.
